


The Road So Far

by 3988Akasha, ElDiablito_SF



Category: Revolution (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:32:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 31,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3988Akasha/pseuds/3988Akasha, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Metatron sends Dean and Cas to another world where they may not have the supernatural, but they also don't have electricity.  </p><p>Miles and Bass are on the run from Neville when they encounter a couple of lunatics claiming to be a hunter and an angel.</p><p>Shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> On the SPN timeline, this takes place after the end of Season 8.  
> For Revolution, we diverge from canon rather heavily during "Dark Tower" (season 1 finale).

Dean didn’t like the look on Metatron’s face, there was something about it that wasn’t quite right, aside from his rather puggish-looking vessel. He’d learned enough over the years to know that he couldn’t trust the angels, Dean smiled bitterly, _any_ of the angels. He couldn't think about Cas right now; he didn’t know where the guy was and he kept convincing himself that he didn't care. They were out of the game, technically. Both of them. At least, that’s what he’d told Sammy. With everything, Dean figured, Sam had earned his whole apple pie, college, nerd filled dreams. It left him with nothing, again. 

“I’m going to give you a gift, Dean,” Metatron said.

Dean rolled his eyes, because if it was a gift like the type he gave Cas, he didn’t want it. Nothing good could come out of a gift from an angel who’d destroyed the world. Or heaven. Or both. Dean hadn’t stuck around long enough to find out. He’d loaded up the Impala and set out on one last hunt, determined to get Metatron to fix it, or die trying. 

“And it’s not even my birthday.”

Metatron pursed his lips, his watery eyes gazing at the hunter dispassionately. “It’s one I hope you’ll appreciate, because you’ll live. I don’t want you to die, Dean. I don’t want any of the humans to die. That’s why I did it. Well, part of why I did it. Heaven was dangerous, out of control. It was the only way to make it safe again - start from scratch.”

“You know I’m going to kill you, you lying sack of shit.”

“I know that’s why you came. You’ll see though, this will be better. You’ll have a chance at happiness. I hope you take it.”

“The only happiness I experience will be when I see your smarmy ass flame out on this carpet. But first, you’re gonna give me Cas’ Grace back, you bureaucratic cancerous blister on the ass of Heaven!” Dean was posturing, and he knew it: other than the angel blade in his hand, a move which he’d all but already played, he had nothing on Metatron. Still, he had made a promise to Cas when the angels first fell, and if he couldn’t keep it, well... at least he would go out with a fight. That was the only fate a hunter could hope for in the end. 

“Dean, we both know you’re not going to win this bout. You’re tired, you’ve grown older, you’ve been fighting for so long. It’s time for your story to have a different ending. Don’t you want that? Haven’t you ever wanted a different story?”

“People like me don’t get another story,” Dean hissed through his teeth, still more than mildly annoyed that the scribbler angel had just basically called him “old.”

Metatron sighed.

“Sometimes I think you wouldn’t be able to recognize your own happy ending if it hit you straight in that handsome face of yours, and then kicked you in the balls! No matter, you’ll thank me later.” 

And somewhere between Dean thinking “Oh no I won’t!” and “Don’t you fucking touch me!” he had been zapped somewhere, the familiar nausea the only indicator of the distance he’d travelled. 

Dean bent over in pain, praying to his own innards to cooperate and get with the program. His hand was still clutching the angel blade with stiffening fingers. “Son of a..,” he began to whisper, but somehow it wasn’t sufficient, so he exploded with, “Fuck! Fucking asshole _fucker_!”

“Dean?”

“Cas?” Dean blinked rapidly, unable to believe that Cas was here, wherever the hell here was. 

“I seem to have been transported with you.”

“Really? What the hell? Where?”

“I don’t know, Dean. However, I do believe we are still on Earth.”

“Great, that’s really helpful, Cas.”

“From the position of the sun, I could also roughly estimate the time, but I can tell you’re in one of your moods and are probably just going to be a... you know. Dick.”

A surprised laugh passed Dean’s lips. “Did you just call me a dick?”

“I believe that’s the correct term.”

Dean shook his head, a fond smile on his face. “What now?” It was actually the simplest question he could have chosen from the bevy of inquiries circling his mind such as “Where the hell have you been?” and “Why the fuck did you leave me again?” Then again, if he had always gotten straight to the core of what was truly bothering him, he wouldn’t have been much of a Winchester.

“I can’t sense anything like I would have before. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

Dean didn’t say anything, but he still rolled his eyes. “We can’t just stay here. We need to figure out where Metatron zapped our asses, and then we can figure out how to get home and get your Grace back.”

“Dean, I don’t think getting my Grace back should be a priority.”

“Of course it should! I mean, look, I appreciate you putting a brave face on for me and all...” Cas’ hand was on Dean’s shoulder, stopping the flow of words.

“I’ve learned when to feed myself and even to do all the other things which must necessarily accompany digestion. I’m fine, Dean. What about you? You look like you’ve been in some kind of a fight again.” His hand brushed gently against the bruise that was starting to blossom at the edge of Dean’s jaw.

Dean shoved his hand away. He couldn’t deal with Cas caring, not now. “It’s nothing.” He didn’t miss the hurt look on Cas’ face, the one that made him look like a kicked puppy, but he couldn’t afford to let that get to him. He didn’t even know which Cas he was dealing with, and he needed to know if the fallen angel was actually going to stick around this time. 

Somewhat crestfallen, Cas had let his hand drop and turned away from Dean, scanning the horizon. There didn’t seem an obvious direction to go.

“So, listen,” Dean began uncertainly. “Looks like you and I are gonna be here for a while. Together. Maybe. Right?”

“I don’t think Metatron will come back for us, if that’s your concern. I do think he wanted both of us out of his way. I don’t like to think about what he’s doing in our absence.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a bag of dicks, but we can’t do anything about him now. Pick a direction.”

“I told you I can’t sense - ”

“Just - nevermind. We’ll go that way,” Dean said, arbitrarily heading East, or what he would have assumed to be East judging by the position of the sun. He snickered to himself, remembering Cas’ earlier sass. He wanted to turn to make sure Cas was following him, but pride had prevented him long enough until he heard the familiar stride behind him.

It wasn’t comforting, the knowledge that Cas was next to him, because Dean couldn't allow it to be. He should have known this would be Metatron’s idea of “happiness,” the two of them stranded in some unknown location, without anything to do. It’s not like they were going to talk. Dean almost shuddered. That was always Sam’s thing, and Sam, lucky bastard, wasn’t here. He was off living a normal life, whatever that was. The pipe dream of an apple pie life, and Sam finally had it. And speaking of pie, Dean’s stomach growled. This was definitely not Purgatory.


	2. Chapter 2

Miles’ knuckles had already gone numb from earlier, when they had connected with Bass’ face, so he didn’t mind putting his fists to use again as he knocked out one guard. The second had proved trickier, but with a snap of his neck, the man had finally gone limp in Miles’ deadly embrace. “The shit I do for you, Bass,” Miles thought angrily, and raised the flap of the tent, slipping inside.

He didn’t think about the sudden rise of anger he felt when he saw Bass beaten and tied to the post of one of his own tents. He didn’t think about everything they’d sacrificed, all the blood they’d spilled - all the lives he’d ruined. None of it meant anything anymore because it was broken and wouldn’t be fixed because he knew what was going on in the Tower, knew Rachel would get the power on, knew everything was going to change. 

“Did you come to finish me off?” Bass’ eyes still burned blue even in the dimly lit tent.

“You ass, if I was ever going to really kill you, you would’ve already been dead.”

“So what then? Come to gloat?”

“Shut up, Bass.” Miles took out his knife, wiping the remnants of the blood off on his trousers. He reached up and slit through the ropes, hearing the way Bass sighed as the blood started circulating through his wrists once more. 

“What now, Miles?”

“Yes,” Neville said from the doorway of the tent. “What now, Miles?”

“A coup, Tom, really? Think this will impress that boy of yours? Convince him you’re the good guy?” Miles egged him on, hoping to distract him from Bass. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Neville shifted in place a bit, hands placed behind his back, and for all Miles knew, he could’ve been holding two guns there. “We can both put him down. Start a new Republic.”

Miles grabbed Bass by the lapel of his jacket and yanked him up to his feet, standing close enough to support his weakened body.

“Not on your life, Tom. He’s my family. He’ll always be my family.”

Bass hadn’t said a word, but Miles could feel his emotions draining out of him, as if he had unleashed a guttural cry.

“Touching,” Nevilled grinned, casting a look behind him. “Perhaps the homoerotic fixation goes both ways. I should have known.”

“You’re an asshole, Tom,” Miles snapped, pushing Bass behind him and taking another step back. Any moment now Neville was going to summon his back-up, and show his hand, so to speak.

“Miles, what are you doing?” Bass whispered.

“I’m saving your sorry ass,” he squeezed through his teeth. “Good luck running what’s left of the Republic, Tom!” Miles gave him something that was between a salute and a flip off. “I’ll be back for you some day!”

“Monroe is escaping!” Tom hollered, finally pointing a revolver at the two men. 

Miles smiled. “You’re going to shoot us, Tom? What about the fair trial you were lying about? You’re no better than us and they’ll figure it out - and they’ll kill you for it. Not that it matters to me, but I’d love to kill you myself.”

“I’m standing right here, Miles.” Tom tossed the revolver behind him, Miles heard it land on the dust. 

“Think you can take me?”

“I’ve been waiting for some payback since you threatened Julia.”

“You did promise to kill me for that.”

Tom’s smile was cruel as he relaxed his stance, something Miles recognized because he’d taught him. It was almost laughable because he’d taught Tom _everything_. He was one of the best, too. It wouldn’t be easy, but he’d take him because if he didn’t Bass would be killed and he still couldn’t let that happen. 

Their swords were at the ready, but the sound of rapid feet coming towards the tent had alerted Miles to the hopelessness of their situation. There really wasn’t time to both kill Tom and get away with Bass. The choice was ludicrously simple.

“Run, Bass,” Miles nudged against the other man with his hip, but stubborn blue eyes bored into his own.

“No. I’m not leaving you.” Bass’ words were barely above a whisper. The crazy bastard was serious, and Miles knew that better than anyone. With a swift movement of his shoulder, he had slit the canvass behind them, creating another portal for their escape.

“So long, Tom!” Miles shouted, just as someone had started to open fire. He grabbed Monroe’s hand, not thinking about it, and pulled him towards the newly created exit. “Come on, Bass. Run!”

They could thank the night for their cover later, but right now they had to just let their bodies do what years of training had prepared them for: run for their lives. He didn’t let go of Monroe’s hand until he could no longer hear the shouts in the distance. They were lost, yet simultaneously, they had been saved.


	3. Chapter 3

It didn’t take a long time before they found _something_. Dean couldn’t make any sense of it, and really wished he had his walking, talking encyclopedia with him. It was like some sort of cosplay thing, like those weird things Charlie liked to go to, but with much better costumes.

“Can you be quiet and follow my lead?” Dean asked as they stopped near the crest of a hill, looking down on the encampment.

“I’ll do what you need, Dean.”

It wasn’t much, but he’d take it. He couldn’t just leave Cas out here on his own. “Fine. Stay low and stay quiet. We have no idea where Metatron zapped us to and I’m so going to kick his ass for that when we get back.”

Cas nodded and Dean moved forward slowly, staying close to the edges, watching the different groups, trying to figure out if there were good guys and bad guys or just bad guys. In his experience, it was always the latter.

“They’ve been down there a long time.”

“We have our orders, you know. We need to get that door open.”

“Nothing’s going to open that door.”

“Step aside, gentlemen.”

Dean watched a man in a blue uniform carry up a case of C4 and lay it at the base of what looked like a bunker door.

“Get down!” Dean whispered, instinctively covering Cas with his body. He could feel the tension in Cas’ limbs, but he didn’t move out of the protection of Dean’s body. He’d think about it later, when there weren’t pieces of Civil War Reenactment flying around all over the place. The ground shook with the force of the explosion.

“If it’s any consolation, I think they’re human,” Cas whispered, so close to Dean, his breath ghosted along the sinews of the hunter’s neck.

Dean shook it off. “Get off me.”

It came out gruffer than he meant, but he couldn’t be getting a boner now. And the danger had passed. Dean felt mildly chagrined and wanted to say something in consolation, but Cas, that formerly angelic bastard, had already slipped out from behind the rock and was headed towards the opening which had been blown in... the bunker thing.

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean mumbled and followed him. By the time he had caught up, Cas held something in his hand that Dean may have found inside the Men of Letters bunker - to be more specific, a sabre.

“I took it off a dead man,” Cas explained casually. “Would you like me to find one for you?”

“A dead guy?”

“No. A weapon.” Cas still did the head tilt thing, despite his newly acquired humanity, and Dean always felt like he wielded that gesture as destructively as he could wield an angel blade.

“Yeah.” It was the only thing he could think of as he looked around at the Comic Con rejects, most of whom just ignored them. They were too preoccupied with the dead, with the destruction left over from the bomb.

“Very well,” and Cas was off, wandering among the bodies, going deeper into the bunker.

“Dammit, Cas.” Dean didn’t know why he kept saying it... it’s not like it really meant anything anymore. Still, he followed after Cas, hoping it didn’t get both of them killed.

The place was mostly empty, dead bodies littered around the area.

“Cas!” He’d lost sight of him and he didn’t like the emptiness of the place, the way his footsteps echoed off the walls.

“Dean.”

He followed the voice, hoping it wouldn’t land him in some trap. To his relief, he found Cas standing in the hallway, a sabre tucked under his armpit as if it was an umbrella, his hand occupied with something that looked like a cross between a shotgun and rocket-launcher.

“I found this,” Cas held the curious weapon towards Dean like some kind of macabre peace offering.

“Woah, dude, point that thing somewhere else!”

These people, whoever they were, took their killing very seriously. It looked like something out of one of the Terminator movies. It concerned him because there didn’t seem to be any supernatural activity; these people were just killing each other. There had to have been something in this place worth all this carnage. The question was: did they want to stick around and find out what it was, or should they just grab the flamethrower on steroids and hightail the hell out of there?

“Something is very wrong with this place,” Cas mumbled, wrinkling his nose in something that still bordered on Divine indignation.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

They didn’t get much time to reflect, because someone had opened fire at them. Dean may have never shot one of those things before, but he had good instincts, and, as it turned out, the weapon did not require very precise aim. The kickback was a bitch though, he thought, lifting himself out of what was definitely Cas’ embrace.

“You OK, Dean?”

“I’m fine,” his face was burning with raging embarrassment. “Who the hell is this guy anyways?” They had approached the newly simmering corpse in the hallway and Cas had crouched down next to him, feeling for a pulse.

“Either way, he’s dead now.”

“Yup, guess so.”

Cas rummaged in the man’s pockets. “Looks like some kind of governmental ID. Randall Flynn? Mean anything to you?”

“Nope. Should it?”

“Dean!” Cas suddenly straightened up and shoved something towards Dean’s face. “Look!”

“What am I looking at? I told you I don’t know the guy.”

“The year of issue on this ID is 2027.”

“Oh _what_? Metatron, you motherfucker! I _hate_ timetravel!”

“So we’re probably in a dimension that doesn’t have any supernatural beings, and in the future.   Great.”  Cas placed his hands upon his hips as if he was 300% done.  “What are we supposed to even _do_ here?”

“I don’t know, Cas, but I tell you what.  We gotta figure something out soon because if we don’t find a place to hunker down for the night and eat something, I’m going to be one really fucking grumpy dude.”  Metatron had been right about one thing - Dean was getting too old for this shit.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our four heroes finally collide.

“Do you know where we are?” Bass asked.

Miles looked around. “Not a fucking clue. Been a while since I’ve been to Colorado, Bass. Didn’t have time to pack a map.”

They’d stopped running, but were still walking at a fairly brisk pace. It was pitch black outside, which didn’t bode well for Rachel and the others. Maybe they hadn’t gotten the power on, maybe they were all dead. He was out here now, alone in the middle of fucking Colorado, and at least it wasn’t Texas, but still. Just him and Bass. Miles shook his head. That should have made him happy; it should have made him angrier than it did. Mostly, he was just numb. 

“We need to find somewhere to hole up for the night,” Bass said.

Miles nodded, not that Bass could see him in the inky blackness. 

“Tom’s not just going to let us leave, you know. He still has more men than us.”

“That’s not hard, Miles.”

He laughed. Something that was harder for him now. 

“You know what I meant.”

“Not really. Unless you have a secret army stashed away somewhere that my informants haven’t told me about.” Bass bit his tongue. He knew it would come up eventually - how long were they supposed to pretend like they weren’t actually enemies in the first place - but he was hoping Miles would have brought it up first.

“Your informants,” Miles repeated. It stung to hear Bass say it, even though he knew. It’s what he would have done if their lives had somehow been reversed. 

“Miles - ”

“Don’t, Bass. Just don’t. I don’t have an army. Your fucking RPGs and drones did a good job of wiping them out, so it’s just us. And Charlie. Well... I suppose she wouldn’t mind killing you, so basically it’s just us again.”

“Met her. Charming girl.”

“She hates your guts.”

“I saved her life, you know, back there.”

“Won’t matter.”

“Yeah. I suppose nothing does.”

“Oh come on, Bass! What the hell did you expect? We don’t just bounce back from this. It’s not a ‘well I saved her once so we’re even’ sort of thing. You killed Ben, indirectly, but still. You killed Danny. This isn’t something that just goes away.”

“I’m not worth forgiving. I get it, Miles. I know I’m some sort of a monster that parents tell their children about before bed. ‘Oh behave now, or Sebastian Monroe will come and take you away!’ But you...” He stopped and pulled on Miles’ sleeve, forcing the other man to face him. “Why did you come back for me? Why save me then? If I’m so beyond redemption.”

“God, why do you think!” Miles wasn’t about to have this conversation. He was dreading having it in the tent, and was secretly glad to have been sprung upon by Neville. And he was certainly no more prepared to discuss it now. “You know, Bass. The same reason I couldn’t kill you in the first place. You _know_.”

Before Bass had a chance to protest, something very strange happened. Miles had shoved him to the ground, covering his body with his own. 

“There’s someone out there,” Miles whispered against Bass’ neck. 

Miles didn’t over-analyze his actions, he couldn’t afford to when it came to Bass. He’d heard a noise and needed to protect Bass. If the intruders didn’t kill them, he’d thank them for interrupting the conversation Bass was determined have. 

Of course, that was only the beginning of the strangeness.

“One horse, Cas.”

“It was the only animal I could find that would carry both of us and it didn’t make any sense to continue on foot.”

“Stay down,” Miles breathed against Bass’ neck before he slid to his feet.

“Plus there are provisions in the saddles and you have been whining about how hungry you were, and quite frankly, Dean, I was beginning to worry you might turn to cannibalism.”

“Oh shut up, Cas. What is that? Angel humor?”

“Former angel humor.”

“Yeah you’re funny.”

“I know, Dean. I’m hilarious.”

“What was that?” Dean pulled up on the reins, halting the horse. 

Miles had pressed his hand against Bass’ mouth to prevent even so much as a sigh from escaping.

“Where?”

“Over there!”

The voices were uncomfortably close to where Miles and Bass had been lying.

“And you know what else sucks, Cas? My flashlight doesn’t even work here. And I had just put new batteries in it. Fucking time travel!”

This conversation was too ludicrous to be endured. And, more importantly, they were both about to be trampled by the horse carrying the two riders. There was nothing left to do but to roll out and hope for the best. He had a sword; he was still good at killing even when nothing else made a damn bit of sense. Miles rolled them both to the side and sprung to his feet, his weapon at the ready.

“What the hell?” One of the riders had pulled up the reins, while the other one leapt off the saddle and faced Miles, his own sword raised menacingly.

“Who sent you? Neville? Flynn? Answer me and I won’t have to disembowel both of you _and_ your trusty steed over there.” Miles pointed towards the horse. Even in the darkness, there was something otherworldly about his opponent’s eyes.

“Not if I disembowel you first,” the gruff, gravelly voice replied. “You and whoever you’re trying to block with your body.”

“Cas, woah! Stop. We discussed this. Talk first; stab later.” The second rider leapt off the horse and approached the small group gathering in the clearing.

“Sorry, Dean. But he’s threatening to disembowel our horse, and it’s our only means of transportation in this place. Incidentally,” the man turned towards Miles again, “Where the hell _are_ we? Perhaps you could tell us that, instead of trying to kill us.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather just kill you,” Miles snapped, not about to be taken in by this strange line of questioning.

“Well, that’s not very helpful, is it? Dean, these humans are no better than the demons from our world.”

“The what?” Bass had come out from behind Miles’ back.

“Demons.”

“Yeah, I think we heard that right the first time. Demons, Miles,” he had turned towards his best friend, a borderline psychotic smile suddenly appearing on his face. “ _Demons_.”

“Just get back behind me, Bass, so I can kill these two gentlemen, and then we can resume our conversation.” Miles wasn’t sure what had gotten into him, other than the fact that these two weirdos were being... well... weird, and that made him act irrationally in return.

“As you wish,” the man with the gravelly voice had resumed his stance and lunged towards Miles, their swords colliding in a spray of sparks.

“Miles!”

“Cas!”

Miles ignored Bass’ voice, happy that it was still coming from behind him. He had to focus on the sword that was getting too close to his neck for his comfort. It’d been a while since he’d fought someone this good. It was always different when you were fighting for someone; it was always different when he was fighting for Bass. 

A strong blow sent him staggering back a bit and Bass chose that moment to move in between Miles and his attacker, hands up in front of Miles like he were a rearing horse. 

“Miles - Miles, stop. They weren’t sent by Neville - or Randall. They think we’re demons.”

“I know they’re crazy, Bass.”

“We don’t have to kill them. They would double the number of men we have.”

“Cas! Talking, we need to work on the talking. They’re just human, Cas.”

“Okay,” Miles said, angling his body in front of Bass. “Someone start explaining something.”

“Where the hell are we?” Dean asked.

“Colorado,” Bass answered.

“What is going on at the bunker?” 

“You’ve been to the bunker?” Miles asked, more interested in the getting-to-know-you than he had been. 

“Yeah, they blew it up. I picked this up,” Dean held up the super gun. “Killed some poor bastard, but he was shooting first.”

“What did he look like?” Miles asked, moving closer to Dean, resisting the urge to shake him. 

“He looked like an asshole!” Dean snapped.

“He didn’t have much in the way of hair and his name was apparently Randall Flynn,” Cas helped, trying to work on his “talking” skills.

Miles turned to Bass. “They killed your boyfriend.”

“He was shooting at us,” Dean repeated, defensively.

“He wasn’t my... Seriously, Miles?” Bass veered on him.

“Can we not do this now?” Miles asked. 

“Dude, _what_ is going on in this place?” Dean was becoming exasperated. “And what the fuck year is it, anyways?”

“2027,” Bass answered.

“That is what the ID badge said,” Cas told Dean.

“And, there’s a coup going on,” Miles said. “And possibly the power going back on, but maybe not at this point.”

“2027?” Dean was scratching the back of his head as if it was about to explode.

“What coup? Do you know Crowley?” Cas asked, no less confused than his companion.

“What the fuck is a Crowley?” Miles asked.

“Where did you two even come from?” Bass stepped forward.

“Not from around here, that’s for sure,” Dean finally replied. And then, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he held out his hand, “My name is Dean Winchester.”

Miles looked at the outstretched hand, and, finally sheathing his sword, he reached out to shake it, “I’m Miles. This is Bass.”

“Bass? That’s a silly name,” Cas concluded with a head tilt.

“What the hell is your name then?” Miles snapped, hand twitching for his sword. 

“His name is Cas. He’s new,” Dean replied. 

“New what?”

“Human,” Cas replied, earning a look from Dean. “Uh... That’s... No. Not supposed to say that.”

“Right, cause... that’s totally normal,” Bass shrugged and looked over at Miles.

“Hear that?” Miles asked, hand gripping his sword. 

“You expecting someone?” Dean asked, holding the gun in a better position.

“No one we want to see.”

“And definitely no one that we want to see _us_ ,” Bass added.

“Run?” Dean suggested. 

“Too late,” Miles replied, taking out his sword.

“So, fight then?” Dean nodded and moved closer to Cas, who had assumed a warlike stance next to him.

“This isn’t your fight,” Bass pointed out, eyeing their solitary horse. “You should save yourselves.”

“By the sound of it, I don’t like your odds,” Dean pointed his flamethrower towards the trees. “Besides, Cas and I aren’t really known for running away from a good fight.”

“Or for having a lot of common sense,” Cas added, earning another look from Dean, although this latest one appeared to be a surprisingly tender one.

“Suit yourselves. It’s probably your funeral,” Miles shrugged but nevertheless moved closer to the two wack-jobs.

“Been there, done that,” Dean mumbled.

The four men held their weapons at the ready as the clearing was filled by roughly twenty militiamen, with Neville at their head.

“You really don’t know when to die,” Neville announced as he halted the troops.

“Never was much good at following orders,” Miles replied with a shrug.

“But you are good at collecting strays.”

“He’s kind of a dick,” Dean stage-whispered to Miles.

“Yeah, he really is.”

“Miles, let’s not make this any worse. Just surrender and the other two can leave.”

“Hey,” Dean yelled to get the asshole’s attention. “Say hello to my little friend!”

Before anyone could react, Dean pulled the trigger and watched the fire light up the area in front of them. They were greeted with sounds of chaos, horses making horrifying noise, men shouting, swords clashing. Somewhere along the line, Dean managed to find Cas and smugly tell him, “I’ve always wanted to say that,” knowing full well that there was no way that Cas would have understood the _Scarface_ reference. Still, it felt good to be so badass.

The initial flames didn’t keep Neville’s men distracted for long and soon the chaos reformulated into fighting, which was something they were all far too versed in. It felt unusually right as they moved together in a coordinated assault. Dean hated to admit it, but he hadn’t felt this good since Purgatory, even though it wasn’t vamps and Leviathons they were fighting now - it was humans, and humans died bloody. He also had to give props to these LARPers - they could certainly hold their own in a twenty to one situation, which this may very well have become had Dean and Cas not joined in the fun.

Dean tried to seek out the wiry man in the dark green coat (or at least that’s the color it seemed when Dean had lit up the clearing with his little buddy - the gun was going to need a name). He wanted to kill him, personally. Part of him thought he should maybe feel a bit more remorse about killing all the humans, but he couldn’t get there. Things changed; he changed with them. It was adaptation. At last he spotted what he thought might be the man’s form, skulking away into the forest, with what was left of his hobbled troops. He wanted to go after them, but a hand held him back.

“It’s all right. Let him go.” Bass wiped the perspiration off his brow and pulled Dean away from the trees.

“But, dude, that guy is a total douchebag! And I have a feeling he’s just gonna keep coming for you if you let him live.”

“I know.”

“So... what the hell?”

“Let’s just say I’m trying to turn over a new leaf.”

Dean shrugged. Who was he to question people’s motives? He still wasn’t sure if he had been fighting on the right side, but he did so love to root for the underdog.

“Where’d they go?” Miles asked as he came jogging up to them.

“They ran off into the trees,” Dean answered.

“Let’s go, we can catch them before they get back to the Tower.”

“No, Miles. No.”

“Bass - Neville, he’s just going to keep coming back. He’s going to kill me. He _wants_ to kill me.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“Uh, if he is going to come back, we need to not be here when they do,” Dean said.

“There are no men left in the area,” Cas said as he came up to the group. He looked out of breath a bit, but no worse for wear.

“There’s a safe house. But it will take us days to get there on foot. We can’t very well all ride one horse,” Miles pointed out. “You had no reason to fight for us - and we won’t forget that. But perhaps this is where we say farewell.”

“Is it safe? You know, traveling to your safe house?” Dean asked, his giant gun poking random holes in the dirt by his foot.

“No safer than hanging out in this forest tonight,” Bass replied.

“Then we will come with you,” Cas said, and this time, the look he had earned from Dean was full of both melancholy and open affection.

“Let’s go then,” Miles said. He looked at Bass, eyes lingering on the patches of red on his brow, the shallow cut on his arm.

“I’m fine, Miles.”

Fucking mind-reader. Miles nodded, not knowing what else to say.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean kept glancing at Cas, still half-afraid the trenchcoated bastard was going to disappear again, even without his angel powers. They were following behind Miles and Bass, who marched on as though they were accustomed to narrowly escaping near-death situations. He didn’t understand any of it, and now that the immediate threats were gone, he couldn't stop the loop of “what the hell” going through his mind. It didn’t make any sense. Why here? Why would Metatron zap him and Cas to some ass backwards version of the world? He must have been taking lessons from Zachariah, the smug bastard. Dean had killed him, too. 

“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” Cas’ voice cut through the silence.

“What?” Dean asked, face scrunched in confusion.

“Isn’t that what people say when they’re lost?”

Dean smirked and shook his head. “That means you just called me Toto.”

“I don’t understand that reference, Dean.”

“What? They’re from the same damn movie, Cas!”

“I’ve never seen this ‘movie,’ Dean,” Cas replied, making air quotes around “movie” and looking generally exasperated. Dean figured, he must be at least half as exhausted as Dean felt.

“And you never will,” Bass called over his shoulder. “Not anymore.”

“Yeah, about all that,” Dean began, moving closer to Bass so they wouldn't draw unwanted attention with loud conversations. “What the hell, man?”

“No power,” Bass replied.

Well, sure, Dean thought. That clears everything up.

“That explains why your flashlight wasn’t working, Dean,” Cas added, helpfully. “The batteries were fine.”

“OK, what’s _his_ deal?” Bass leaned into Dean conspiratorially, indicating Cas. “And where the hell did you two come from? Dorothy references or not, you weren’t just dumped in the middle of that forest by a magical tornado.”

“It does seem like we have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?” Dean said, agreeably, ignoring the question about Cas and feeling a wave of protectiveness well up in his chest. Sure, Cas was a fucking weirdo. But he was _Dean’s_ weirdo, and that meant something.

“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours?” Bass offered with a playful wink.

Dean noticed the way Miles’ shoulders tightened and smirked. He wasn’t the only possessive bastard for once, which was nice. 

“It’s crazy,” Dean responded.

“What’s not anymore.”

“Angel zapped us here.”

“An angel,” Bass repeated. “And of course that’s why you thought we were, what was it, oh right, demons.”

“Look, I said it was crazy.”

“Crazy or not,” Miles said as he turned on Dean, eyes flashing dangerously. “If you’re lying and it gets us killed, I’m going to hunt you down and kill you slowly.”

“How are you going to do that, if you’re dead?” Cas gave Miles the squint of confused derision he was so excellent at summoning at such times. At least, Dean figured, he wasn’t preemptively trying to stab the dude in the neck. Progress.

Miles chewed his lip while regarding Cas in a way that didn’t necessarily bode well. Dean decided to intercede again.

“If anyone gets killed, it’ll be a lot more likely because you have an army of cosplayers chasing _your_ asses! Now, we didn’t need to help you, as you said. But it looks like we’re stuck here, which means, we’re stuck here together. Might as well play nice.” He turned to Cas and whispered, “Stop scowling! Jesus Christ, Cas....”

“Neville’s not going to follow us at night,” Bass said. “Cosplayers, seriously? The uniforms look better than that.”

Miles snorted and Bass glared at him. Dean smirked. Cosplayers, he’d never understand. 

“Why _are_ they chasing you, anyways?”

“Well, Bass here was President of the Monroe Republic. But Bass’ new boyfriend decided to do something stupid, so of course, Neville took the opportunity to stage a coup, that we all knew was coming. He needs to learn to keep a tighter leash on his pets,” Miles answered.

“Randall’s not my - look, he was going to help me get power. It’s not like you were around to help anymore. Too busy chasing after your dead brother’s hot piece of ass wife to give a damn about me.”

“You killed my brother, damn it!”

“You tried to kill me - _twice_!”

Dean exchanged a look with Cas, clearly these two had _issues_. 

“Look,” Dean said as he stepped between the two. “Why does this guy want you dead?” 

Miles blinked. “I did hold a sword to his wife’s throat. That tends to stick in your craw.”

“Dude,” Dean said. “What’s with all the pissing contests over some chicks?”

When Miles glared at him, he just shrugged. It’s not like he actually expected an answer to that.

“Plus, this one,” Miles indicated Bass again, “Was taking his tyrannical rule a little too literally. Tried to nuke Georgia. Can’t exactly blame people if they come out of the woods shouting for his blood.”

“Dude, for real?” Dean veered on Bass. “You tried to nuke Georgia? The fucking _peach state_?”

“I was having a bad day,” Bass shrugged. “My moral compass up and _left me_ one night, after holding a gun to my head!” Bass glared at Miles.

“I burned his friend Pamela’s eyes out the first time she looked upon my true form,” Cas mumbled, and cast a sympathetic look towards Monroe.

“Um... OK, _that_ guy?” Miles pointed at Cas and made a gesture of futility which spoke louder than words.

“You shut up!” Dean got into Miles’ face in rather reckless fashion. “He couldn’t help that shit. He’s a fucking Angel! Or was. Whatever. But you two have a list of crap so long, I don’t even know where to tell you to stow it! So just keep your judgy shit to yourself and lead on to your safe house.” This soliloquy delivered, Dean let out a breath and took a step back. “After you,” he motioned before him with his hand.

“An angel?” Miles whispered over his shoulder to Bass.

“I don’t even..,” Bass shook his head, and dropped his voice even lower. “We can always just kill them both later.”

“Yeah, OK,” Miles agreed and walked on.

“That guy tried to nuke a state,” Dean hissed towards Cas in the darkness, falling into step behind Bass and Miles again.

“I ingested a Purgatory’s worth of Leviathons and slaughtered hundreds of my own brothers in Heaven once,” Cas replied, his voice barely audible.

“Yeah, alright. Point.” He put his arm around Cas’ shoulder, another wave of protectiveness, perhaps mingled with regret, washing over him. He wasn’t going to examine it too closely. “Plus we can just kill them later if they try anything.”


	6. Chapter 6

They’d found a spot to hole up, some place rocky, just as it had begun to dawn. A jutting promontory provided shade against the sun as well as protection against prying eyes. At this point, Bass felt like he could sleep for days, the recent events’ physical and emotional excitement taking its toll as he slumped down on the ground and used his jacket as a pillow. Miles, who was apparently made of steel, volunteered to take the first shift to allow the others to sleep.

“That’s fine, I’ll do it,” Dean interjected. “I don’t need much sleep anyways.” He may have been dead on his feet, but he wasn’t sure he trusted this runaway LARPer to keep watch, badass or not.

“I can stay up too. I hate sleep,” Cas offered, casting a worrisome look at Dean. “Nightmares,” he added in response to Miles’ look.

“Dean and I can both take the first shift,” Miles finally suggested, realizing the nature of the distrustful undercurrents. Dean wanted to protect his trenchcoated freak as much as he wanted to protect Bass.

“It’s OK, Cas,” Dean said softly, leaning towards the former angel. “I’ll watch over you.” He gave Cas a small smile. “For once, right?”

Cas looked over at Dean with a small, resigned shrug. He then shot Miles a threatening glace, just in case, before settling down on the ground, far enough from Bass to be respectful, but close enough in case he needed to stab him in vengeance.

“Your friend is protective of you,” Miles began, handing his water canteen to Dean and settling down on a rock a little ways off from the two prone men. 

“Yeah, well..,” Dean took a grateful gulp from the flask, “We got history.”

“What did you mean when you said he was an angel? Is that like a pet name or... what?”

Dean chuckled and passed the canteen back to Miles.

“Guess they don’t have angels and demons in your world, huh?”

“Not literal ones, no. As far as I can tell.” Miles gave an involuntary look behind him. Bass was out like a light. Trenchcoat Mafia may have been faking. “Do you mean like, a real angel? With wings and shit?”

“He used to have wings,” Dean spoke, fighting off the lump which was threatening to form deep in his throat. “This other asshole angel took ‘em. Threw all angels out of heaven. Then zapped us both to this place, whatever it is. And... here we are. No wings. No clue. Just... this.” Dean indicated the overly compensatory weapon by his side. “I think I’ll call her Marlene. She’s a pretty lady.”

Miles was watching the green-eyed man with interest. He seemed sincere. No one was that good at acting. Either that, or both these guys were completely off their rockers, which was still a very likely possibility. But Dean seemed pretty well-grounded for an insane guy. Or, rather, the nonsense he was talking clearly made sense to him. And that was worth something, wasn’t it?

“I guess it’s no crazier than nanites,” Miles finally mumbled.

“What about you and... Bass, was it?”

“Yeah. Sebastian. I’m the one who nicknamed him Bass, when we were kids.”

“You two got some kind of sordid history, huh?”

“Yeah, guess that can happen when you sleep with your best friend... then try to kill him,” Miles sighed and kicked a small rock.

Dean felt his throat suddenly get parched and he automatically reached for the canteen again. 

“Uh... you got anything stronger?”

“Nope. Don’t worry, I wish I did more than you do.”

“Doubt that,” Dean disagreed, thinking that even a beer would do quite nicely right about now. He took another sip of the water. He hoped there was booze in the safe house. “Did you say... sleep with your best friend?”

“Yeah, why? Do they have a problem with that where you come from?”

“Problem? No. No problem. Um... maybe. Depends on who you ask.” Dean was blabbering, blushing, and mentally kicking himself for even bringing it up again. “I don’t have a problem with it,” he quickly added.

“Didn’t think so. You’re boning your angel too, right?” Dean spat out some of the water he had been holding in his mouth, causing Miles to laugh, his eyes widening in surprise. “Oh my god, you’re not! Huh. Well. My mistake. No offense.”

“None taken,” Dean mumbled, blushing even an even deeper shade of red. “It’s just... it’s not like that between us.”

“So, how is it between you, then?”

“Complicated,” Dean offered noncommittally. 

“More complicated than we’re like brothers, we’re lovers, and occasionally, we try to kill each other?”

Dean scratched the back of his head.

“Cas... uh.... Yeah, I tried to kill him once. But in my defense, he’d turned into a giant douchebag with a God complex. In fact, he turned into God.”

“Interesting,” Miles narrowed his eyes at Dean. Perhaps he’d overestimated this lunatic and gave him too much sanity credit.

“But also he raised me out of Hell. So there’s that. Kinda can’t ever live that one down, you know?”

“You were in... Hell,” Miles repeated that more to himself than anyone else. “Are you being metaphorical now? As in, war is Hell?”

“No, I mean the actual Hell. Flames. Hooks. Torture. You know the drill.”

“OK, Dean, I’m gonna ask you something, and don’t take it personally, man.” Miles looked over at the strange man before him and waited for his nod of acknowledgement. “Let’s just not talk anymore for a while.”

Dean laughed and slid down to the ground, leaning against one of the rocks. He was sort of thankful for Miles’ request of silence because he realized that he wanted to talk about the mansex thing. And, frankly, this was probably neither the time nor the place. Dean looked over at Miles again, slyly - the other man appeared to be in deep thought, his forehead furrowed with expression lines. In their own world, Dean could’ve pictured him as a hunter, maybe even as a friend. There was kinship there that Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on. Eventually, Dean supposed, they’d have to talk again. But in the meantime, staring at the horizon seemed as good a plan as any.


	7. Chapter 7

The voice that woke Cas up sounded dangerously close to his ear, though by the sound of it, the former angel could only presume he was not the intended recipient of the greeting.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, I’m gonna ruin you. You won’t be able to sit down for a week.”

“Promises, promises, Miles.”

Cas shifted uncomfortably and tried to burrow his head deeper into his arms. 

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Ruining me? Or the sex?” Bass whispered back, barely suppressing a chuckle. Cas heard a small gasp and something much like a giggle. He screwed his eyes shut more tightly.

“They’re asleep. Come on, baby. It’s just you, me, and the rocks.”

“So I’m literally between a rock and a hard place, huh?”

“Bass...” The voice was thick with lust and longing and Cas could pretty much feel the heat emanating from the two men into his back. He hated being such a light sleeper.

“God damn it, Miles, you’re a kinky bastard,” Bass’ voice caught in his throat in an intimate gasp.

“You’ve never complained before,” Miles whispered, his voice becoming more muffled.

Cas wasn’t sure exactly what they were doing in such close proximity to him, but he had a fairly good idea that it wasn’t something he or his ears should have been privy to. He contemplated announcing his wakefulness, when it all suddenly became a moot point because Dean had moaned his name.

He was on his feet before he knew it, eyes darting around, quickly zeroing in on the hunter, slumped against a rock a few paces away. 

“Jesus Christ, with the cockblocking!” Miles was also on his feet, eyes locked with Cas in a look of aggravated displeasure.

Cas looked from Miles to Dean, uncertainly. Dean was asleep, just as he had previously heard the man assert. This didn’t explain why Cas had clearly heard the hunter call out his name.

“I... I apologize for blocking your cock,” he told Miles, his brain still foggy. “Why don’t you two carry on with whatever you were just doing, and I’ll take the next watch.” He was definitely not sleepy anymore.

Miles looked as if someone had pissed in his soup, but Bass seemed endlessly entertained, as was evidenced by his poorly stifled laughter. Cas moved further off, crouching down a few feet away from Dean, his eyes intently watching the hunter’s lips, as if by sheer will to force his dreams to the surface.

“Come on, Miles. Lie down and get some sleep,” he heard Bass say, his amusement still evident in his voice. 

Cas told himself he wasn’t going to look, but in about an hour, when he had gotten up to stretch his limbs again, he could see the two other men sleeping, their arms wrapped comfortably around each other. They looked happy.


	8. Chapter 8

Miles knew what it was like, the desperation of needing someone, needing the contact of a person, a warm body next to you. It became so intense that the specific body became irrelevant, any warm body would do because the one you needed, the one you craved was always just out of reach. It was a need, though, one that he couldn’t drink away, one that always came to him in the dim moments just before waking, when he would wake up next to a warm body and allow himself to think it was _him_ , to believe for just a moment it was the body he wanted. It never was though, which led him to more drinking, and well, they call it a cycle for a reason. 

Miles Matheson was a strong man, an independent person who didn’t need anything from anyone at any time, except for the times he did - and it was always the same - it was always Bass. The yearning, the longing, it was always for the same mess of curly hair, for the blue eyes that sparkled as though Miles had hung the stars just for him, and damn it, Miles would have too, would have done anything for him. _Had_ done anything for him. It was only when he was truly on his own, self-exiled to a shithole bar in Chicago that Miles realized what utter shit all his knowledge, his self-reliance, his strength truly was. It was all a lie. A farce he’d cultivated over the years because he’d needed to, because he was the fucking General and he couldn’t afford to show weakness. Needing someone was always a weakness because it was someone who could be used against you. It hadn’t mattered though because everyone knew Bass was his weakness, always had been, always would be. 

If he had any sense, he’d be out of their little camp and on his way to some obscure part of the world where no one knew his name and no one cared. But, Miles was a fucking moron and had Bass, warm and real, snuggled up against him. His deep breathing even and warm against Miles’ neck. Sure, he hadn’t gotten laid, went to sleep with serious blue balls caused by a fucking former angel of the Lord, and wasn’t that just the strangest thing he’d ever heard. Other than maybe fucking nanites, but that might be splitting hairs. Even with the biggest boner known to mankind, he was oddly content with Bass’ hair tickling the tip of his nose.


	9. Chapter 9

It was a good thing that Dean had been blessed with his particular brand of a circadian clock. By far not everyone (or, more accurately, hardly anyone) could function on four hours of sleep as well as he could. Although, he had been known to indulge in the occasional six hour sleep-a-thon after a particularly grueling hunt now and then. Some things just don’t die easily.

Like these cosplayers, for example. Dean has seen Cas rain down his fury on someone’s unfortunate ass before, even after he’d lost his angelic powers. But once a soldier, always a soldier. And Cas was good, almost _too_ good sometimes, at the killing thing. He could smite the shit out of you, creature or human, even without the supernatural light show. Dean even caught himself beaming with pride a few times, like, yeah, that’s right, that’s my angel. But this Miles person had turned out to be hard to kill, and from what little information their new traveling companions have shared with them, Dean gathered Bass was fairly unkillable as well.

Dean had been mulling over this apparent invincibility as his internal clock woke him from a surprisingly restful sleep, rocks and a disturbing alternate universe notwithstanding. Stretching his limbs to get the blood flowing, the first thing Dean did was grope his side for Marlene, grasping and stroking the weapon’s giant barrel lovingly. He was alive and still armed: check. Now, where the hell was Cas?

Dean rubbed his eyes and sat up. The sun had begun to beat down on him rather mercilessly, the shade afforded earlier by the rock formation apparently having betrayed and abandoned them all. Cas was sitting a few paces away from him, his legs crossed, like some new age Buddha, which reminded Dean uncomfortably of the other Cas he’d met, the last time angels had decided to play little fuck-fuck games with time and space. 

“You’re awake,” Cas was never one for not overstating the obvious.

“You didn’t take off,” Dean mumbled.

“Did you think I would just leave you here? With these... renegade ruffians?”

“Well, Cas, not for nothing, but you do sort of have a tendency to fuck off at the most inconvenient times.”

“I see.” Cas looked down at his own palms, as if searching for a deeper meaning in them. Dean mentally kicked himself for being awake for roughly thirty seconds before he had apparently picked a fight with his best friend. His only friend, if he were honest, certainly in this god-forsaken hell hole. Although, from his perspective, it was neither more hellish nor more god-forsaken than the hole he had been transported out of. But at least his own world was _home_. For all he knew, they might not even have pies in this place. Dean shuddered. “I believe I interrupted their intended sexual activity,” Cas finally said, bringing Dean back from his self-flagellatory reverie and lifting his eyes up from his own hands. “I’ve been watching you sleep. I...” He looked away, as if uncertain whether he should continue, and Dean could have sworn he saw Cas’ cheeks color a bit.

“You what, Cas?”

“I thought... You... You called out my name. But you were asleep. So I must have imagined it.”

Dean quickly shaded his eyes with his hand, a universal sign of shame, he realized, and quickly tried to brush it off as trying to shield his eyes from the sun, shifting uncomfortably on the hard ground. Had he called out Cas’ name in his sleep? Dean wasn’t sure he even remembered what he had been dreaming about properly. Purgatory, most likely. He had that dream a lot, or rather, that nightmare, since Cas had reminded him how it had actually all gone down. The phantom grip of Cas’ hand on his arm. “Cas! Hold on!” His friend’s blue eyes shining just a briefest stretch away from him. With... what? Dean could not quite tell. There was a longing there, a sliver of underlying pain, but also such shattering resolution. And no matter how hard Dean gripped him with his hand, no matter how much he tried to pull him along with him through the portal, Cas always broke away. No, _pushed_ Dean away. He let go. He _chose_ to stay. Cas chose to leave Dean.

Finally, Dean cleared his throat. “So... uh. They tried to get it on, huh?”

Cas tilted his head to the side, in that overly endearing way. “Oh. Yes. Well, that one,” Cas motioned towards Miles, “was particularly adamant about ruining the other one,” he nodded in Bass’ direction, “in a way that would render him unable to sit down for a week.”

“Holy shit, Cas! Stop! No. That’s....” Dean didn’t know _what_ that was, except that he now needed bleach to wash out his ears _and_ his brain. “That’s what we call TMI.” Cas gave him the head tilt again. “Too much information?”

“If it’s so private then why were they so eager to do it right next to me?”

“That is a very good question, Cas, to which I hope to never have an answer,” Dean shook his head, as if trying to clear it of the images Cas had just unwittingly placed there.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“I’m sorry that I fuck off, as you say, at the worst possible time. If given the choice, I only ever wish to...” His voice caught on something deep in his own throat. Dean waited, his breath held, until he caught himself staring at Cas’ mouth, waiting for the end of that sentence as if for a life-line.

“I know, man,” he finally exhaled, resigned to the fact that the sentence might never get completed, certainly not the way Dean wouldn’t admit to wishing it would.

“I wanted... I want...” Cas was struggling, which wasn’t really that surprising if you considered that angels weren’t ever created to experience want, only to obey. He opened his mouth, only to have silence come out of it, his eyes shifting nervously from the ground to Dean’s face, then back to his own hands again. “I would choose you.” His eyes shot up towards Dean’s face again, deep blues shining with a glimmer of light, very much akin to hope. “I mean, if things had been different. I would always want to stay with you.”

Son of a bitch. Dean swallowed so hard, he actually hurt his throat. He eyes stung so much, so very much, that stupid sun, it was making them water.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas added, his own eyes looking equally as affected by the sunlight as Dean’s.

“I know,” Dean squeezed out again between his teeth, worrying that if he was expected to say much of anything else, he and his self-respect might spontaneously combust. “We should wake these two lovebirds up and get moving. I’m about to die of sunstroke over here.”

Dean looked over at where Miles and Bass were still sleeping wrapped up in the safety of each other’s arms. Something about their content countenances sent a sharp jolt into his stomach. He blamed it on hunger and took a step towards them to kick Miles awake.


	10. Chapter 10

The four men got to the safe house in Serenity Springs a few hours after sunset and with only a few minor setbacks, one of which involved nearly murdering a group of kids dressed in Militia uniforms which they had the misfortune to take off of a couple of dead soldiers. The marching pace set by two older men was punishing, yet exhilarating at the same time. Most of the way they walked in an awkwardly spanning horizontal line, because Dean didn’t trust “Leagues and Fish” not to shoot them in the back, while the toothy grins from Bass made Cas stoically avert his gaze and protectively brush against the side of Dean’s arm.

“This is it,” Miles pointed towards something that looked like an abandoned tornado shelter.

“Age before beauty,” Dean bowed in fake gentility and gestured towards the hatch in the field. Miles graced him with a menacing frown but moved with a casual saunter towards the rusty door.

“Your boy’s got a mouth on him,” Bass hissed in the direction of the former angel, as Dean stood aside, feet firmly planted, Marlene braced at the ready against his shoulder. Cas looked up towards the skies, a few circling vultures in the distance the only answer from on high.

“He’s not my boy,” he mumbled, eyes shifting to the ground. His shoes weren’t designed for this kind of hiking. He envied Dean his boots. He envied Dean a lot of things, not the least of which was his ability to make witty comebacks in situations like this.

“Yeah? Could’ve fooled _me_ ,” Bass’ sparkling blue eyes met Cas’ own darker lapis shade of blues. 

Before Castiel could think of an appropriate response, an “All clear!” sounded from the hatch, and the renegade President of the Monroe Republic separated from him, practically with a skip in his step, heading towards the descending staircase. Cas watched the way the curly haired one followed after his darker haired companion, the way he would smile when no one was looking, as though everything in his world was wrapped up in the other. 

Once the two were in the cavernous hole in the ground, Cas looked questioningly at Dean, not sure if they were meant to follow.

“If we get killed down there, I’m gonna be pissed,” Dean muttered under his breath, moving towards the opening.

“I’ll go first,” Cas offered.

“No way, man.”

“God dammit, you Disney Princesses gonna stand out there all day or are you gonna come down here and eat some delicious canned food?” Miles’ disheveled head popped out from the hatch and leaned coyly against the side of the staircase, observing the two otherworldly visitors with a sense of eternal amusement. “Maybe you should also send up a flare, you know, just in case Neville’s men don’t know exactly where to look for us.”

“Do you _try_ to be an asshole all the time or does this just come naturally to you?” Dean snapped at the smirking man.

“It’s a gift. What about you, America’s Next Top Model? Always been a dick or just trying extra hard to impress your angel boyfriend?”

Dean may have tried to kick the smartass in the face, except he was prevented by the fact that some unseen beast from within suddenly pulled Miles into the hole. He heard an undignified squeak, that he would remember to use against Miles for the rest of their unfortunate acquaintance. At least his tumbling was performed with much flare, replete with a loud gasp and a dramatic flailing of limbs. Some kind of demonic giggling echoed from underneath the ground. Dean forced the smirk from his face because he refused to be _amused_ by these idiots.

“Asses!” Dean shouldered Marlene and began to climb down into the hatch, Cas following closely after him.

Inside the bunker, Bass already had some kerosene lamps going, illuminating the surroundings. Much like the Tardis, Dean thought, this place was bigger on the inside. It almost reminded him of the Men of Letters bunker, except minus all the awesome, electronic gadgets and plus two homicidal assholes. Their hosts were apparently busy rearranging their pantry, or some kind of an impressively packed supply closet, which was indeed brimming with all sorts of preserved food. Dean never thought his mouth would water at the thought of canned beans.

“Cas, you OK?” Dean shot a concerned look over at his friend, whose vapid stare spoke of him being in a galaxy far far away. For a moment, it reminded him of Naomi, but he pushed that thought to the side. 

“Huh?” Cas refocused his eyes.

“He was a dick. He shouldn’t have called you that… you know, like that.”

“What?” Cas quirked his eyebrow. “Oh. You mean when he called me your angel boyfriend.”

“I mean he had no right to say it like it was an insult. You know, with those two, being… whatever they are.”

“I’m sorry you found that offensive, Dean.”

“No, man, you don’t understand. I’m saying it shouldn’t…”

“Who wants canned corn?” Bass and his toothy grin materialized in between them before Dean could complete his sentence. Something about the way he said it made Castiel vaguely uncomfortable, as did the way the blond man’s eyes slowly traced the ligaments of his neck. Cas swallowed. “C’mon. You must be ravenous.”

“Seriously, everything that dude says sounds dirty,” Dean whispered and Cas found himself glad he wasn’t the only one affected that way by Monroe’s voice.

“You were saying something,” Cas squinted towards Dean in that way that made the walls of his heart compress in unfathomable ways.

“I was? I don’t remember. I’m just so hungry.” Castiel’s mouth twitched and Dean blushed at his own obvious lie. The truth of it was, he _was_ fiendishly hungry, but, more importantly, he had no idea how he was going to finish that sentence. _I’m not offended by the thought of you being my boyfriend?_ Uh, no. That wouldn’t have come out right. “Leagues is a dick,” he added as an afterthought.

“His name is Miles,” Cas corrected with a smile.

“Still a dick though.”

Cas wasn’t going to argue with that assessment. Although the aforementioned dick was evidently in the process of preparing them a feast worthy of kings (such as it was) in his own secret bunker, and Castiel was not going to simply discount such hospitality.


	11. Chapter 11

Bass was moving his fingers in circles over Miles’ propped up knee, his head resting just under the his best friend’s clavicles as he sprawled in between Miles’ legs, back to chest. Miles arms were wrapped loosely under his armpits, and his lips gently brushed against the side of his temples. This was the definition of bliss.

“Are we really not gonna talk about any of it?” Bass mumbled, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the other two men sleeping inside the bunker. True, he had no particular desire to ruin a moment of rare and perfect harmony, but he’d apparently ruined so many other things so what made this moment any more or less special than any of the ones that came before?

“I don’t know what else there is to say,” Miles replied, dipping his head lower and taking the other man’s ear gently between his teeth.

“That’s not true, you know. You can give and take away with a single word, Miles. Don’t tell me you’ve got nothing else to say to me.” 

“I missed you,” Miles whispered and nuzzled further into the back of Bass’ neck. He wasn’t sure there was a better way of expressing himself other than that. He had ripped a hole open in his own chest and tried to fill it with booze and hatred, but the only thing that would have ever filled it was Bass. It was simply a Bass-shaped hole. No one else fit.

Bass lifted his chin to try and catch Miles’ lips with his own. His eyes shone with the question he could not bare to utter out loud. _I am something to you, aren’t I?_

But something moved outside, a shuffling of feet at the surface, the rusty creaking of the hatch opening. Miles and Bass both sprang to their feet, swords at the ready. 

“Who else knows about this place?”

“No one living,” Bass replied, voice hollow, his eyes darkening.

“What’s happening?” Dean sat up, bouncing up off the hard ground like some kind of Jack in the box.

“Top Model’s a light sleeper,” Miles mumbled. Bass pressed his finger to his lips and pointed silently towards the hatch. The sound of footsteps above them was unmistakable. Miles pointed to Cas’ sleeping form, and Dean gently shook him awake, placing one hand over his mouth to prevent him from making any unnecessary noise.

Cas rubbed sleep out of his eyes and rose up off the floor, assuming the position next to Dean. All four men waited, armed to the teeth, for their nighttime visitor or visitors to show themselves. 

“Is there any reason not to shoot first and ask questions later?” Dean whispered towards Miles, who gave him a barely perceptible shrug. 

“It sounds like just one person. Surely we can overpower them,” Cas suggested.

“Good ears, Wings.” Bass pressed himself against the wall and peeked around the corner, much to Miles’ growing annoyance and apprehension. 

“Bass, get back over here,” Miles hissed, and he was carelessly waved at in a gesture of utter lack of care or self-preservation. 

Something dropped down into the hole, followed by the shuffling of footsteps on the wobbly staircase. Then, a softly whistled tune echoed down the dark hallway. Bass and Miles exchanged bewildered looks. Bass shook his head while Miles gesticulated something wildly at him that no one else in the room could possibly be privy to. Dean picked up his beloved Marlene off the nearby table and braced it against his shoulder with practiced ease.

Miles returned the tune because he couldn’t think of anything better and he could only hope it was just the one. There were four of them, and it seemed that they were all mostly unkillable and who the fuck was he kidding, maybe they’d get to fight some more - he never said he was sane. It’s not like was going to be able to lock Bass up in some bunker to keep him safe like he so desperately wanted to, and no he wasn’t going to analyze that train of thought too closely, thank you very much.

“Gonna lower that thing, hoss? Might take out an eye,” Jeremy said as he moved further into the bunker, arms up in surrender, just in case. 

“What the fuck?” Miles and Dean said simultaneously before glaring at each other.

“I could ask the same thing, but Miles, you might want to catch Bass - he looks as though he’s about to swoon, or something equally unmanly.”

Miles turned to Bass, and yep, he was white as a sheet. Like he’d been the first time Miles had broken a bone. Sure, it’d been a compound fracture and the bone was sticking up out of his skin like something from a horror movie, but that didn’t keep Miles from freaking the fuck out when Bass passed out, only to give him shit about it for the next _forever _. He made it over to Bass just in time to help him slide bonelessly to the floor. He wasn’t quite passed out, but standing was clearly out of the question.__

__“Someone start talking,” Dean growled, gun still trained on the intruder._ _

__“Put the gun down,” Miles said tiredly. “He’s not going to kill us.”_ _

__“He’s right. Thought about it, for a bit though, but it’s not really my style. These two,” Jeremy gestured between Miles and Bass, “Why, they’ve perfected it. Made it into an art, really. Attempted murder of a best friend, has a ring to it, but they’re never able to follow through. Bass nearly got it done, but, well, he’s not the only one with friends in strategic places.”_ _

__“How are you - ”_ _

__“Not dead?” Jeremy finished for Bass, a sad smirk on his face. “The men you sent in to shoot me in the head, thanks for that, by the way. I’m glad you were at least going to do it in private, in your very office. I’m flattered by the honor, really. I thought only you and Miles were allowed to try to kill each other inside the capitol building.”_ _

__“You tried to kill Jeremy?” Miles asked, confused and strangely amused by the thought._ _

__“I thought he was plotting against me,” Bass said, his tone holding a note of accusation Miles knew he deserved._ _

__“You tried to shoot Lucifer, too?” Dean asked._ _


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerifer is such a troublemaker.

The whole thing was too much, just way too much _Freaky Friday_ for him. They knew Lucifer. The frickin’ cosplayers from Hell knew Lucifer. Sure, they called him something different, but a vessel was just that, a vessel - a human condom to make the hordes of hell palatable for the inhabitants of earth. 

“Lucifer? I’ve been called many things, most of them creative gems from Grumpy over there,” Jeremy/Lucifer gestured towards Leagues. “But, that’s a bit harsh, really I’m a charming guy.”

Dean glared at Miles, who was trying to hide his laugh behind Bass’ shoulder, and really? It wasn’t enough to get sent down the wrong fucking Rabbit hole, but now they had nanites, whatever the fuck those were, and Lucifer - fucking Lucifer, and no one was reacting. 

“Uh, hello, it’s Lucifer - fallen angel, wanted to end the world, Apocalypse, anyone?” Dean looked over at Cas for some support because, LUCIFER.

“It is possible,” Cas began slowly, “that this dimension is without supernatural activity.”

“He’s not Lucifer? Cas, that’s crazy. He looks exactly like LUCIFER.” Dean waved Marlene around in a way that should have been less comical, had his audience been more _sane_. “Please tell me you have some holy water around, Christ’s sakes!”

“OK,” Jeremy stopped moving, still holding his hands aloft, “Who are the new lunatics? And why are you two so utterly incapable of making any mentally stable friends?”

“Cas, a little help here!” Dean trained his missile-sized gun on the new arrival’s face.

“I don’t have any holy water either,” Cas responded, looking as confused as Dean felt. “But I like to think if he really was Lucifer, I’d be able to pick up on it.”

“Even without your mojo?”

Cas directed his eyes at his own hands for an answer that would not come, then shifted them towards the stranger’s face.

“Hey there, bedhead,” Possibly Not Lucifer winked at Cas.

“Alright, everyone chill the fuck out,” Miles spat out angrily, still crouching by Bass’ side, absentmindedly running his fingers in soothing strokes through the blond curls at the nape of his neck.

“I’m so chill, I’m practically on ice,” Jeremy said, carefully eyeing his audience. 

“Top Model, put that shit down,” Miles ordered, pointing at Dean.

“Are we really calling him that?” Jeremy’s face dissolved into a smile.

“You don’t call me _shit_ until I know you’re not Satan, you got that?” Dean hadn’t let go of Marlene.

“He’s not Satan,” Bass muttered weakly from the floor. “Although I’m certainly no authority on such things, and I did believe him to be dead up until five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but did you feel bad about it?” the newcomer nodded towards Bass, his hands still elevated for Dean’s benefit.

“Jesus Christ, Bass! As if nuking Georgia wasn’t bad enough, you tried to have Jeremy executed?” Miles finally moved away from his floored companion, and walked over towards Dean, standing between the barrel of the gun and the Man Who Could Still Be Lucifer. “Lower the bazooka, Dean.” To emphasize his desire, Miles placed his hand right into the bore of the barrel and forced the gun down. Dean took a step back. “It’s all right, I promise,” Miles’ voice was steady but low, as if he was horsewhispering Dean. 

Finally, Dean let his finger off the trigger and put Marlene off to the side (still within arm’s reach).

“This,” Miles pointed towards their new guest, “Is Jeremy Baker. An old friend of ours, and Captain in the Monroe Militia.”

“The same Militia which is now trying to kill you?” Cas confirmed quitely. Miles shrugged. 

“He’s a man of some vices, but he’s certainly _not_ the fucking Devil. Shit. What kind of world do you two live in, anyways? Angels, demons… _Lucifer_?” Miles looked from Dean to Cas and back again, as if hoping one of them would fess up and tell him this whole thing was some cosmic joke.

“At least we have electricity,” Dean snapped back at him.

“I’m gonna put my arms down now,” Jeremy announced, following through on his intentions. “Not as young as I look, you know. Joints get sore.”

“Satan doesn’t get sore,” Cas whispered towards Dean.

“He couldn’t possibly be _lying_ , now could he, Cas? Father of _Lies_ , and all?”

“What on earth is going on here, anyways?” Jeremy walked over to where Bass was still sprawled against the wall and offered him his hand. “I’m used to walking in on lovers’ spats between the two of you idiots, but now I’ve walked into a whole new world of paranoid maniacs, with double the pointless bickering.” Bass accepted the proffered appendage and pulled himself off the floor with Jeremy’s help. “Gonna introduce me to your new handsome friends?” He winked again, aiming in Castiel’s direction.

“Hey, you watch that eye-twitch, buddy!” Dean aimed his finger at Jeremy’s face with deadly precision. “Or you might lose it.”

“Dean!” Miles’ hand was on the hunter’s shoulder. “I said _chill_.” Turning towards Jeremy, he mumbled apologetically, “Seems our new friend here is very protective over his angel.”

“His whu?” Jeremy’s mouth dropped open and hovered mid-syllable until his eyebrows gave a small, habitual wiggle. “Oh, is this sweet ass taken?” Bass had to haul Jeremy out of the way, so that Dean’s blow could land in the middle of a shelf instead of Jeremy’s face.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean cradled his fist. A few cans rolled sadly along the floor and underneath the table. “You might not actually be the Devil, but you even _think_ about laying one horny finger on that man…” Dean pointed towards Cas, his fist throbbing almost as badly as his temples at this point, “I swear to God, I will end you!”

Well, so _that_ happened. And Dean would have a nice, long think about it later, possibly the next time he was taking a comfortable dump.

“Are you going to behave, or am I gonna have to tie you up?” Miles had gotten so far up into Dean’s personal space at this point, Dean was fairly sure he was intimately familiar with his inner nose hairs. Had he been a smarter man, Dean would have probably stood down, but this entire situation had already crossed all boundaries of what he considered tolerable. And watching frickin’ Lucifer hitting on Cas was just about the final straw. So, when he kneed Leagues in the nutsack, it was a foregone conclusion.

Dean shouldn’t have been surprised when Fish and Probably Still Lucifer were all over him in the next moment. His face hit the floor, even as he felt someone’s arm press all too firmly for comfort around his neck. Someone’s knee was burrowing into the small of his back.

“Get off him!” Dean heard the familiar growl above him, and suddenly his windpipe could function in the way the Lord intended - by letting in wind.

“Holy shit, angel-baby is stronger than he looks,” Lucifer’s voice echoed unpleasantly in Dean’s head.

“I can’t believe he went for the family jewels.”

“We should probably kill him.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter with the sex! So here are some warnings for those of you who need them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Here be the man sex. Here be rimming and anal and use of spit for lube. You've been warned.

“No one is killing anyone,” Miles grumbled. “Get the hell off me.” 

He looked around at everyone, glaring at each of them in turn because he could.

“Neville is out there and he wants us all dead - that includes you, Ken Doll. We can’t just go and kill each other, how am I the one saying this?”

“Do you have _any_ friends left, Miles?” Jeremy asked.

Miles rolled his eyes, not bothering to respond because he just said they couldn’t kill each other and there wasn’t any liquor strong enough to keep him from doing something stupid. 

“What’s your plan then, GI Joe? We hole up here until he fucks off and forgets about us?” Dean asked.

“Yes, and we’ll all die of old age while Bass crocheted doilies.”

“He can crochet?” Cas asked, looking at Dean with a look that made Miles smile because he knew Dean wouldn't recognize it yet - it was the way he looked at Bass when no one was watching.

“Not the point,” Miles said with a long look at Bass. “Just so everyone’s clear though. Jeremy is not Lucifer, he just doesn’t think that big. And these two are from the past, you know the one where we had electricity and apparently a hyperactive pseudo-religious supernatural element.”

“Right, and they think I’m Lucifer.”

“Well, the broody one thinks he’s an Angel of the Lord.”

“Former Angel of the Lord,” Cas corrected. 

“Shit, does that mean we’re related?” Jeremy couldn’t suppress another wink.

“Shut up, Jeremy,” Miles snapped, rubbing his brow. “We need to make it through the night and then keep moving at first light, which none of us will be able to do if we’re dead tired, or just dead.” Miles exhaled and added, as an afterthought, “Plus they kinda maybe saved our skins back at the Tower, so… No one else is dying tonight.”

Miles moved over to Bass because well, there wasn’t a reason, he just did. No one was going to be stupid enough to say a damn thing about it. 

“Look, why don’t you two,” Miles pointed to Dean and Cas, “take the next watch?”

He didn’t really trust them not to try to kill them in their sleep, but it was three against two now, so the odds weren’t quite as even, sort of, well, it was the best option he could think of because someone had to start trusting somewhere. Dean met his gaze and seemed to understand, nodding once before tugging Cas’ sleeve and walking up and out of the bunker.

“Think that was wise?” Jeremy asked.

“Better than keeping him down here with you, Lucy.”

“Fuck you, Miles.”

“Are we actually going to sleep?” Bass asked.

“Look, if you two are going to - whatever, I’ll go risk it with the crazy men who think I’m the spawn of Hell.”

“Tell us how that works out for you,” Miles told Jeremy as he moved his hand into Bass’ hair, loving how Bass leaned into the small touch.

“Yeah, my chances are better outside. I’ll give you guys a couple hours, and see if we can’t find some bleach.”

“Second best ass I’ve ever seen,” Miles mumbled.

“Screw you, Matheson,” Jeremy threw over his shoulder.

Bass was laughing, his eyes bright and Miles allowed himself to enjoy the moment, to pretend it was normal, before everything went to hell, before it all became a bad episode of _The Twilight Zone_. Sometimes he really did miss Rod Sterling and his TV. 

They listened for a few moments for any sounds of Jeremy possibly getting blown into smithereens. None came.

“Alone at last?” Bass looked up at Miles through his thick, blond eyelashes, his hand combing his hair back away from his face. Miles grunted in assent, his eyes scanning the room for a convenient surface.

“You’re not going to fuck me on the table, Miles.”

He smirked. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Miles locked his eyes on Bass and moved forward until he could grip Bass’ hips, hauling him flush against his body. 

“And, you’re the one who said I could fuck you hard enough you’d forget where you were. Would you like that, Bass? Would you like me to make your words true?”

He watched Bass’ eyes, watched how the pupils grew, watched Bass’ tongue dart out to nervously swipe at his lower lip. 

“I want that,” Miles continued, voice rough with desire. “I want you spread out beneath me, lips parted, eyes blown - I want to fuck you until you don’t know your own name.”

He captured Bass’ lips, feeling him moan into it. Bass’ hands scrambled for purchase on Miles, fingers finally wrapping around the material of his shirt. Miles moved his hand to fist in Bass’ hair, yanking his head back roughly, changing the angle of the kiss and thrusting his tongue into Bass’ mouth when he gasped at the sudden pain. 

“I think you want it,” Miles whispered against Bass’ lips as he rocked his hips forward, dragging a moan from Bass’ now swollen lips. “I think you want my dick in you, filling you, tearing you apart.”

“Fuck, Miles.”

Miles laughed, a coarse sound that was full of dark promise. 

“That the best you can do?” Miles pressed closer, letting his own boner drag along the tenting in Bass’ pants. “You can beg nicer than that, can’t you, baby?” 

Holding on to Bass’ waist with one arm, Miles turned towards the table and swept off its contents with his free hand. Empty cans, remnants of their dinner, as well as who knows what else explosive went tumbling to the floor. Someone would have to clean that shit up later. Miles didn’t really give a shit who. With another growl, Miles brought his lips and teeth up against Bass’ neck, loving the silky, salty taste of his skin against his tongue, marking him roughly just above the collarbone, tugging at the material of his shirt with desperately roaming hands.

“Can’t let you forget who you belong to, right, Bass?”

“Fuck, Miles, Jesus Christ…”

Miles chuckled and swept his palms down the familiar, muscular flanks of his lover’s back, cupping the firm globes of his perfect ass. He was going to own that ass tonight. God, he’d been such an asshole to stay away for so long. Grabbing on firmly, he lifted Bass off the floor and pushed him onto the newly cleared table, lips still sucking hard kisses into the sensitive skin of his neck, nibbling at his bristly jaw.

“I want you so bad,” Bass moaned, his eyelashes fluttering like outraged butterflies.

“Better. But not quite enough begging.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Bass moaned, causing Miles to laugh as his hands fixed on the band of his pants, pulling them down roughly, exposing the beautiful hills and valleys of the other man’s hips.

“God, I missed you,” Miles whispered to the hipbones, showering them with kisses, long licks, and sharp little bites. His hands were struggling to remove the pants all the way, until, finally, he yanked them angrily from around Bass’ ankles and tossed them to be trampled upon on the floor. He rubbed his face against the bulge of Bass’ briefs, inhaling the scent from a small circle of wetness forming there. “You’re so beautiful, all spread out for me, like a feast. Just waiting for me to plow you until you forget how to breathe.”

“Jesus, enough with the dirty talk, and make good on it, already!” Bass thrust his hips upwards, towards Miles’ grinning face.

Miles licked a long stripe along the coarse cotton, enjoying the small whimpers his ministrations tore out of Bass’ throat. He used his teeth to pull the underwear down, causing Bass’ erection to pop out triumphantly and smack him in the face.

“Oh, you’re such a pretty boy,” Miles whispered, his breath ghosting along the velvety shaft of Bass’ cock.

“Please…”

Miles gave Bass’ cock a painfully slow lick, all the way from the base to the very tip of his flushed head, making Bass arch up off the table, craving more friction. 

“Miles… come on… don’t be an asshole!”

The breath of Miles’ laughter vibrated along the shaft again, and then it was gone. Bass let out a frustrated moan, trying to crane his neck to see what the hell Miles was getting up to. But then he felt Miles lifting and spreading his thighs, the cold air hitting his exposed flesh just as he felt the slide of Miles’ tongue along his hole.

“Fuck!”

“Mmmm…”

The vibration of Miles’ moan sent shivers up Bass’ spine and he spread himself more open, willingly. He was an inviting feast, indeed, Miles thought, laving his hole with his tongue, interchanging long swipes with concentric circles. He spat at it and rubbed the pad of his thumb along the tender knob, massaging his spit into the puckering opening.

“God, Bass. If you could just see yourself like this.”

“Please…” Bass was losing his mind. He hadn’t been touched like this for so long, not even to mention the last time he had been touched by Miles, his entire body felt like it was about to burst at the seams. 

Miles spat again, using his tongue like a probe to force his spit inside, chewing at the tight muscle around the orifice, making it even more sensitive. Bass writhed, his thighs trying in vain to wrap around Miles’ shoulders, as the other man held him spread out and fixed in place.

“I’ll take good care of you, baby,” Miles whispered against the flushed skin of his ass, bringing his hand down onto the flesh with a satisfying slap.

“Miles!” Bass’ voice broke, his hands flew out to grasp at the air around him.

“I’m gonna take you apart, till you can’t take it anymore.”

Bass could have sworn he was whimpering like a puppy. He needed more, needed to feel Miles’ hands all over him, needed to feel him stake his claim on his body again, after all this time.

“Fuck, I need you inside me,” he moaned.

Miles spat again, using both his thumbs this time to rub the spit into and over the reddened flesh of Bass’ pucker. They began to slip in with more ease, and Miles worked at the walls until he could freely fuck Bass with three of his spit-slicked fingers.

“Please… please…” Bass wasn’t even getting properly fucked yet, and already he had given up on his native tongue, it would appear. Miles smiled complacently, his own eyes at half mast with mounting lust. Bass tried to reach down to take a hold of his own cock, but Miles quickly slapped his hand away.

“No. That - is mine. You are mine.”

“Need you,” Bass pleaded.

“I need you too, baby,” Miles quickly undid his own fly, taking his own throbbing erection out, while his other hand continued to work Bass open. “You’re so beautiful like this, fucking yourself on my fingers. Can’t wait to see how gorgeous you look all impaled on my cock.” Another loud moan from Bass was his only response. Miles spat into his hand. He was hoping this would be enough. It would have to be enough.

But Bass was his. And if ever, even for the briefest moment, he had forgotten it while they’ve been separated, then Miles needed to remind him of that. He wanted Bass to feel the burn of it, the rough claiming of his cock tearing into him, over and over again, fucking him so raw that he would feel it in the morning.

“God, baby, I’m gonna take you apart,” Miles whispered, pulling out his fingers and bracing himself at the entrance. “This might burn,” he stated, not as a warning, but rather as a promise. A loud, lustful moan from Bass was his reward. Miles brought his hand down in another sharp slap against Bass’ flushed skin, making the puckering hole flutter, and then he pressed forward, finally ensconcing himself in the tightness of his lover’s body.

Bass clawed at his skin, fingernails pressing little half moons into his shoulderblades. His neck craned, tiny beads of sweat forming along the soft skin there, begging Miles to bite and lick them off again.

“Fuck, Bass, you feel… you’re…. Oh, God…”

Miles bottomed out and held Bass tightly enough to crush for a moment, until he began to move, his hips snapping forward in a rough and steady rhythm. Bass arched towards him again, thighs wrapped tightly around Miles’ hammering hips, his own cock seeking more friction as Miles seemingly went out of his way not to trap it between the slick heats of their rutting bodies. Miles was fucking him raw, and it was exactly what Bass’ wanted. He couldn’t wait to have his man’s scent all over him again, to know as he fell asleep that it was Miles’ cum oozing out of his asshole. He wanted to be possessed. They had years of this to make up for, and if Miles didn’t fuck himself straight into Bass’ DNA that night, well, Bass would be grossly disappointed.

“Please,” Bass begged again, “I need to come.”

“Oh, you will come, baby.” Miles had spread his thighs apart with his hands again and continued to pound him, angling his body so that each stroke would hit and drag against that spot inside Bass that he was always so adept at finding. “You’ll come like this. Just from my cock inside you. Writhing on my cock, like my beautiful, little whore.”

“Fuck…”

“Yeah, baby, that’s right. You love getting that ass fucked by me, don’t you?”

Bass didn’t know what to grab onto, so he dug his fingers into the sides of the table, each thrust of Miles’ hips practically knocking him into the air.

“Say it!”

“What?”

“Say you love getting fucked by me.” Miles was punctuating his words with perfectly aimed thrusts. Bass’ thighs were shaking in his lover’s strong grip.

“I love it! God… yes!”

Miles leaned down and took one of Bass’ nipples into his mouth, toying with it with his teeth, making Bass squeal with sensation.

“Oh, God! Please!”

He could tell Bass was close. His felt so perfect around Miles’ cock, like he was born to it, his entire body giving off a heady scent of sex and an incomprehensible warmth. Miles was about to blow his load himself, but he needed to see Bass come apart on his cock first. He gave the nipple in his mouth a few rough strokes with his tongue and pulled Bass by the hair to bring his friend’s face closer to his own lips.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered into his lover’s ear, thrusting home with the ferocity that made the table tremble beneath them. “Let me see you come undone.”

With a loud shout, Bass began to spill all over both of their stomachs, clenching and pulsating around the throbbing shaft of Miles’ cock. Miles smiled into the warm skin of his neck, letting his own body go limp over Bass and he began to empty inside him, his orgasm becoming torn out of him as if by some extraneous force. He clutched at Bass, milking his cock with his hand of the last drops of come, just to make sure. 

Bass’ hands were wound tightly into Miles’ overgrown hair, his thighs glued in place right over the grooves of Miles’ hips. They fit perfectly like this, Miles thought, as he inhaled his lover’s perfect, intoxicating scent again.

“Told you I would make you come like this,” Miles mumbled, every muscle in his body feeling like molasses. He heard Bass make a noise, something between a chuckle and a sob. He lifted his head out of the sweat-slicked hollow of Bass’ neck and looked into his half-lidded eyes. “You alright?”

“You won’t leave again?” Bass whispered.

“The only way I’m ever leaving you again, Bass, is in a coffin,” Miles replied, his expression growing serious.

“Then I’m coming with you,” Bass whispered and pressed his lips against Miles’ again, sealing their promises.


	14. Chapter 14

All things considered, it could’ve been a lot worse. The bunker didn’t have any ventilation, so the space smelled like several flavors of jizz by the time they came down, but at least Dean didn’t have to sleep in anyone’s wet spot. 

Lucifer, or whatever his actual name was - either way, it sounded more “normal” than Leagues and Fish - had actually turned out to be entertaining company for the night watch. When he wasn’t shooting sly glances at Cas and licking his lips in a way that still made Dean want to punch him in the nuts, he had gone out of the way to keep the hunter and his friend entertained with tales of the Monroe Militia in its days of glory. Dean had to admit, the whole story didn’t sound as far out as he had originally judged. They were just men trying to make order in a chaotic world. He thought about Sam and what he’d be doing by now, if he had discovered that Dean had been poofed to another dimension. He hoped his little brother would stay out of trouble this time. Maybe find another dog. Or Jesus, even.

If Cas had noticed the eye-fucking and lip-licking, he hadn’t let on. They kept up the conversation even after switching shifts, lying awkwardly on the hard floor, with only some rather suspect blankets to cushion them. Occasionally Cas asked Jeremy probing questions like, “Well, if Miles loves Bass so much, why does he always leave him?” And “If Bass is such a great guy, why did he try to have you executed?” Dean smiled sadly at those questions. They reminded him of too many things that he had been actively trying not to think about for a very long time.

“Sometimes, the person you love most is so close to you that they just become a blur in the corner of your eye and you lose sight of things,” Jeremy tried to explain to the former angel patiently. 

“I killed hundreds of my brethren once too,” Dean heard Cas mumble. “And I hurt Dean. And his brother, Sam, too. I hurt everyone I was supposed to protect.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Originally, I thought I was doing it to protect them. But in the end… I don’t know. I don’t seem to have very good judgment when left to my own devices.”

“Hey!” Dean wasn’t about to let this discussion carry on a moment longer. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You have _fine_ judgment.” Well, _that_ was a load of crap if he’d ever heard it! And, honestly, Dean had no idea where that came from and why it had bubbled up in the darkness of the subterranean room. Why couldn’t he ever just talk to Cas about things like this so calmly, like this Lucifer/Jeremy was doing?

“Really, Dean?” Cas’ voice had taken on a rather sassy tone. Dean blamed Lucifer. “You think I exhibited _fine_ judgement when I let Metatron manipulate me into expelling all angels out of Heaven?”

“Metatron is a dick!” Dean snapped, hoping that truism would carry the day. “Besides,” he mumbled sleepily, “I shoulda been there for you.”

“You were, I just didn’t listen.”

“No, I wasn’t, Cas. I was an asshole to you. I was so butthurt that you didn’t trust me, I cut you off, and that allowed that douchebag get to you.”

“Um… would you two like me to leave now?” Jeremy’s voice carried over from the other side of the room. “I mean, I already did Bass and Miles this favor, so, whatever. I can go sleep outside. Used to it.”

“Shut up, Lucifer!”

“Gotcha.”

“Good night, Dean.”

“Sleep well, Cas.”


	15. Chapter 15

Before they headed out at the break of dawn, Bass made sure he found a pair of decent boots for the weirdo who claimed to be an angel to wear. The guy’s shoes have seen better days, or to put it more precisely, the holes in his shoes have given his toes a better view. Luckily, their feet were roughly the same size and the safe house had been fully stocked for such eventualities.

He had spent the hours of their watch observing Miles, whose hawk-like stare seemed to pierce the darkness around them. One thing Bass didn’t miss about the world before the blackout was the sky. The canopy of stars over them was a sight he made it a point to appreciate, especially on nights like that night. If God and his angels were real, wherever they were, Bass wanted to thank them for this: he had Miles back. Miles still loved him. And Jeremy was alive - and if that wasn’t a miracle, he didn’t know what was. He would do better. They would do better together. They _had_ to do better.

Nature stirred in the morning dew around them as they marched on. Their plan, such as it was, had been worked out over the hours of the watch. Bass wasn’t sure he liked it, but he understood Miles. Family was everything to him, and the girl they’d left behind in the Tower - Charlie, and Rachel (why did all roads have to lead back to Rachel?) were not something to simply be forgotten and swept away with the Colorado dust. It was clear that the plan to turn the lights back on had failed, but at least inside the vice presidential bunker, what was left of Miles’ little team had a fighting chance. There was also Nora Clayton and her myriad of things that went boom in the night and the scruffy fat guy whose name Bass never really made it a point to memorize (the tech genius, or so they said). Would they have managed to keep Miles’ niece safe? And if so, would she simply try to shoot Bass on sight when they finally found her? Bass would worry about the child later.

“So, let me get this straight,” the green-eyed dream boat approached them, enjoying some millennia old jerky from their stash for breakfast. “It took us days to walk over here, and now we’re actually circling _back_ to the place where an entire army is wanting to kill you? I just want to be sure I understood that correctly.”

Miles shifted his backpack and took a noncommittal swig from his flask.

“We need to find the rest of Miles’ family. Then we can deal with Neville,” Bass tried to explain, sounding a lot more convinced than he actually felt. “He won’t be expecting us to go back to that bunker.”

“Element of surprise,” Dean nodded, mulling it over. “These people we’re looking for - can they fight?”

“Rachel is really handy with a screwdriver,” Jeremy snickered behind them.

“I don’t wanna know,” Miles’ voice carried from the front of the line.

“He can’t leave his niece behind,” Bass added, lowering his voice.

“Oh, so there’s a damsel in distress?” Dean perked up, earning a deadly look from Miles and a shadow of doleful look from his angel companion. 

“She’s a little young for you,” Jeremy snorted.

“Age is just a number,” Dean waved him off. “I mean, look at Cas. He’s a gagillion years old, but you wouldn’t know it by the looks of him.”

“I _feel_ roughly a gagillion years old,” Cas mumbled. Bass smiled at that and slowed his stride to fall into place next to the sombre-looking man. 

“Talk to me,” he heard Dean say to Miles. “What are we doing when we get there?”

Bass left the three men ahead of them to discuss strategy as they walked. He was more interested in the celestial being with the amazing head of hair for the time being. He reached into his own sack and took out his water canteen, passing it to Cas.

“So, what’s your story with him anyways?” Bass motioned with his head towards Dean.

“It’s… complicated,” Cas replied, looking more confused than anything.

“Yeah? What isn’t?” Bass was very well acquainted with Complicated. Complicated and his great ass were walking a few paces ahead of him and he was fond of them both. “How did you… whatever… meet?”

“I pulled him out of Hell once. It was a long time ago. It feels like a long time ago, anyways. Time passes differently now that I’m human.” 

Bass shook his head, still not really sure where to put that information.

“You pulled his ass out of Hell, huh?” Yup, repeating it out loud didn’t actually make it sound any less freakish. The man next to him gave the slightest nod. “Whu… why?”

“I thought it was God’s will.” Cas shrugged. “It was a very tense time for us in Heaven. The Apocalypse was at hand. The Seals were being broken.”

“Riiiiight. Lucifer?”

“Things didn’t exactly go to plan, let’s just say,” the angel took a long swig from Bass’ canteen and passed it back. “I rebelled. There was a civil war in Heaven. Dean is my friend. I had to protect him. I still do.” He spoke in staccato brief sentences, which all taken together were no more than a string of non-sequiturs, as far as Bass was concerned.

“So, what did _he_ do to deserve such devotion? I mean, you know, other than have his face.” 

Cas shot another confused look towards Bass.

“His face? No… I… It wasn’t like that. I couldn’t even really _see_ his human face until I fell. His soul was… beautiful though.”

Bass stopped in his tracks, looking at the other man with a sense of wonder and consternation. Cas also paused and looked back towards him, eyebrows raised.

“You can see souls?” Bass finally forced his feet into motion.

“Not anymore. But when I was at my full power, yes, that was how I saw everything. Their true forms, you see?”

“That must’ve been amazing,” Bass stared into the other man’s face with a genuine sense of awe. “The ultimate truth.”

“In a way,” Cas gave a small nod. “It is different now. I used to feel him with me everywhere. I took that presence of him with me to the highest echelons of creation, to the furthest galaxies, and still heard his prayers when he called. Now… I can’t even tell if he really wants me to be here.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Bass gave the former angel what he hoped was a friendly pat on the shoulder. “That guy is crazy about you. And the way you talk about him… Christ, I thought my feelings for Miles meant something. But _souls_ and _galaxies_. Frickin’ _Hell_. You went to literal Hell for him. Where do you even go from there?”

“Purgatory?”

“What? No, I wasn’t being literal. I mean… you two…”

“Hey!” Bass hadn’t realized how far behind they had fallen until Miles was standing there with his arms spread out like an eagle. “Keep up, Bass! This isn’t social hour!”

“Miss me, babe?” he shouted back, jokingly, picking up his pace and dragging Castiel behind him by the shoulder. He pressed closer to him for a moment and whispered, making sure the others didn’t hear him, “We’ll talk more about this later, but believe me when I say he does _want_ you here. He wants you, period.”

When they had caught up to the rest, Bass had snaked one arm around Miles’ waist and pressed a quick kiss right behind his earlobe.

“I love you to the highest echelons of creation,” he whispered.

“What the fuck, Bass?” Miles tried to frown down at him but the corners of his eyes were smiling.

“Shut up, asshole. You’re my whole fucking galaxy.”

“That’s it,” Miles whispered back, pulling Bass closer. “You’re cut off from talking to Angel Face.”


	16. Chapter 16

Dean was dreaming again. As far as dreams went, this one didn’t leave much to the imagination as far as interpreting it. There was Sammy, and his Baby (God, he missed that sweet vehicle) and they were together again: the Winchester family business. It was the night the angels fell. Only Sam wasn’t dying, he was just his usual gigantor self, towering next to Dean, watching the angels falling from the sky. Or rather Angel. Or rather Cas. Dean was watching his wings burn as he fell. He woke up screaming.

Someone’s hand was on his shoulder, holding his back flat against the tree trunk which he’d been using for slouch-support.

“That’s some serious PTSD you’ve got there, buddy,” Lucifer-face came into focus with Dean’s vision.

“Your concern is touching,” Dean grumbled and scanned the area for Cas. The former angel was sitting by the small fire, watching something that looked suspiciously like a rabbit spinning on a stick over the flame. All things considered, they could’ve done worse for a meal. Dean watched as Cas laughed at something apparently hilarious that Bass had said to him. Well, at least he wasn’t taking a meteoric tumble to Earth in a blaze of fire.

Miles came into view, holding something that looked like a huge arquebus over his shoulder. 

“You said you were a hunter where you came from?” 

Dean shrugged and got up to his feet, shaking the dirt and stray leaves off his clothes.

“Think you can go hunt something more substantial for us to eat?” Miles gave Dean an infuriatingly smug look.

“I don’t know, man. You got any demon deer around these parts?” Dean grabbed the arquebus from the man, examining it with an expert eye. He was grateful that Miles was giving him a task. This whole walking around, waiting for some Militia to hunt you down business, was making him feel rather useless. Not to mention the fact that there didn’t seem to be any logical way for him and Cas to even attempt getting back home. It was entirely possible they were going to get stuck in this podunk excuse for a universe forever. At least it wasn’t full of Croatoans.

“There are probably some pretty large birds in that orchard,” Miles nodded away from the clearing and handed over a quiver full of actual arrows. This place was ridiculous. On the other hand, it wasn’t like he could go hunting with Marlene: he’d burn the entire forest down. 

Birds. Dean wrinkled his nose. Unless they were pterodactyls, this wouldn’t be the challenge he was beginning to crave. He’d give anything for a wendigo, right about now, just to make himself feel like a man again.

“Shouldn’t be letting anyone wander off alone, Miles,” Jeremy cast an uncertain look towards Dean.

“Looks like he can take care of himself,” Miles shrugged. “Besides, not gonna go AWOL with his… friend sitting there, getting all chummy with Bass.”

The last sentence sounded a bit like a thinly veiled threat. The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched upwards in a semblance of a snarl.

“I can go with you,” Jeremy gave Dean a smile so guileless that it actually caught the hunter unawares. He looked over towards the makeshift fire pit again. Leaving Cas unattended with the two rebel-rousers seemed sketchy enough. The least he could do was personally keep an eye on Lucifer. Dean gave the man a small nod of accord.

“You try anything funny, I’ll hunt _you_.”

The blond man winked.

“Don’t worry, dollface. I’ll watch your back.”

“Yeah, _not_ reassuring.” 

If nothing else, Dean learned from the previous night that the dude could be an uncanny conversationalist. He had a certain air of a court jester about him: all sass behind the studious stare of his grey-blue eyes. Dean always got the feeling like this guy knew a lot more than he was letting on. It didn’t make him any less Devilish.

“So… Jeremy,” Dean whispered, clearing through the shrubbery. “If that is indeed your name. You never said why came back to find these guys. I mean, what’s his… _Bass_... he tried to kill you. Doesn’t seem like a very bright idea, if you ask me, to be walking right back into the lion’s den.”

“Yeah, but he’d also saved my life a bunch of times _before_ he tried to kill me, so I figured I owed him a free pass.”

“I don’t know, man. Sounds like a lot of their friends have a tendency to end up dead.” Dean paused as soon as the words were out of his mouth. It was uncanny - this universe seemed to constantly be taunting him with the strange parallels between his own life and the lives of the men he’d encountered.

As if on cue, Jeremy responded, “Well, their hearts are in the right place.” And Dean had just about had it with this world. There was a lesson here - that’s how angel magic worked, after all. He was supposed to learn it. Maybe then that douchebag Metatron would zap him back. He just had to figure out what it was that he was supposed to learn.

“What were you dreaming about back then?” Jeremy’s voice brought Dean out of his reverie.

“Why?” Dean asked angrily.

“You were calling out your angel’s name. I don’t know, maybe ‘calling out’ is a bit of a euphemism. You were pretty much shouting it.”

“Did he hear?”

“Don’t think so. Too busy trading war stories with Bass. Did he really have all the souls from Purgatory inside him at some point?”

Dean shuddered. The list of shit he wanted to forget that Cas had done was already pretty long, and the whole Purgatory fiasco was just the cherry on top of it.

“I was dreaming that he was falling from Heaven, with his wings all on fire. Just… burning off to a crisp as he fell.”

“That’s… kind of evocative,” Jeremy shifted and paused, his ears perked up, ostensibly listening for anything they could kill and eat.

“When it happened… when the angels fell, I thought he was one of them. I thought he was dead. I don’t know how many times I’ve had to live through that, ya know?” It was weird, saying this to _Lucifer_ of all people, but Dean couldn’t stop once he’d popped that cork. “Just. Makes you want to go dead on the inside. Not give a shit anymore. Cause that’s how they get to you. Through the people you love.”

“Yup, I hear that.” Jeremy shrugged. “Seems a shame though, either way.”

“What does?”

“Well, he’s not dead, is he? And you clearly _do_ give a shit. So what are you doing having nightmares about losing him when he’s right there beside you?” Point - Satan. Dean scowled.

“You’re so smart, what would you do?”

“Shoot that bird.”

“What?”

“Shh.” Jeremy pointed towards something roughly at Dean’s 5 o’clock. Dean turned and fired. At least his aim was still true. He was pretty sure it was some kind of a wild turkey. “Well done, dollface!” Dean flushed. Not like he needed affirmation from frickin’ Satan incarnate. But it would sure feel good not to go back to the camp fire empty-handed. Dean wound some twine around the poultry’s legs and slung it over his shoulder. It wasn’t a wendigo, but it would have to do for now.

“Yeah, man. Good eye yourself,” he found himself giving Jeremy a genuine smile.

“I’d tell him.”

“Huh?”

“You asked me what I would do. I’d tell him.”

“Tell him what, dude?”

“Tell him… Oh, Jesus Christ. It must be true what they say about pretty people. It’s all just air between the ears.” Jeremy shook his head with something akin to bemused disappointment. Dean gave him the most threatening look he could muster up. “Tell him how you _feel_ ,” Jeremy drew out, rather dramatically, his eyebrows apparently having a mind of their own as they danced around his forehead.

“I don’t do that,” Dean snapped. 

“Are you fucking shitting me? How much of a caricature of a macho douche do you have to be? You don’t talk about your feelings - is that so?”

“I don’t have feelings. And if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t be talking about them. And I _definitely_ wouldn’t be discussing them with you.” Dean was pissed, predominantly at himself. He was having a chick-flick moment, with Lucifer’s vessel, in a frickin’ orchard in the armpit of the universe. How much of a joke was his life?

“All right, well, you do what you need to do. Or not do. But just so you know - Miles and Bass? It’s not an exclusive arrangement.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“They’ve been known to share.”

“Share what?”

“You really _are_ as dumb as you look.” Jeremy emitted a demonstrative sigh. “Share _whom_ is what you mean.”

Dean swallowed and scanned the treetops with his eyes, doggedly avoiding the other man’s gaze on his flushing face.

“We’d better get back to camp,” he said, gruffly.

“Yeah. I thought you might say that.”


	17. Chapter 17

“We should get moving,” Miles announced when Jeremy and Dean come back from their successful hunting trip. 

“Some of us can’t live on sex alone, Miles,” Jeremy snarked. “We went through the trouble of killing the damn thing, the least you can do is eat it.”

Miles rolled his eyes. “Give it to Bass, let him cook it up.”

Jeremy countered with an eyeroll of his own. “He always was the domestic one.”

Miles shrugged because it was true; he always ended up burning the damn thing. Bass was the one who’d permanently revoked his cooking privileges, even before the blackout. During one memorable night on leave, when they were stationed stateside before going to the sandbox, he’d been forbidden to even look at the microwave after burning a bag of popcorn and nearly burning the common room to the ground. 

“At least tell me you shot it through the neck?” Bass asked with a glower at Miles.

He blushed because he’d been, what, fourteen? Trying to outshine Ben who was so damned perfect at everything that he’d shot the deer, but did it wrong, managing to get the buckshot lodged in the chest, rendering the whole animal inedible. Of course, he’d received a lecture from his father and Ben, well, he’d had a smug smile on his face for weeks. Bass was the only one who hadn’t said anything. Just walked next to him, silent support. 

“I shot it with a goddamn arrow, which your husband here handed to me,” Dean grumbled, tossing the bird unceremoniously at Bass’ feet, followed by the quiver of arrows. “Unless it was also poisoned, should be perfectly safe to eat.”

“He’s not my husband,” Miles growled.

“Don’t have to be such a dick about it, Miles,” Jeremy said, smirk on his face. 

“I’m cool with it,” Bass shrugged. “Means it’s not adultery when I’m boning someone else.” He winked at Dean. 

“It’s still cheating,” Miles snapped at him.

“Not if you’re watching.” Bass wiggled his eyebrows.

“What is the _matter_ with you people? You’ve gone seriously native without electricity! It’s all bloodbaths and orgies now, is it?”

“Is that what you think I’ll do now, Dean?” Cas spoke up, separating himself from the warmth of the small flame. “Because, I don’t have any urge to ask beautiful women to bathe and join me in an orgy. I think that was something Zachariah added to be perverse. He didn’t like you very much.” Cas looked up with a rather pronounced pout.

“I didn’t mean _you_ , Cas,” Dean sighed.

“Oh, it’s not an orgy without him,” Jeremy protested. Dean was about to try punching him in the face again when Miles pulled the evil bastard behind himself and gave him some sort of a silent dressing down with really explicit hand gestures.

Once it had been properly cooked, the bird, it turned out, tasted like manna from Heaven. Or, at least, that was Dean’s opinion. Cas insisted that manna was much less chewy and richer in Zinc. There wasn’t really any way of disputing that opinion. It was unanimously agreed that Bass was a miracle worker and would therefore be rewarded with cooking everything they killed in the foreseeable future: an honor he did not seem as happy to receive as others were to bestow it.

By the time they were finished, the sun had set. Miles had insisted on traveling under the cover of night as much as was possible, which meant they weren’t going to be getting much sleep. They could only hope to have some place to hole up when the sun finally came up again. Miles looked around the group, noting that Dean didn’t look quite as inclined to shoot Jeremy just for breathing, an impulse he was familiar with, and figured things could be worse. At least they could each take a watch shift, no longer worried about shooting each other in the night. Maybe Jeremy, but he seemed to have nine lives. 

“We’ll do watch in shifts. We need to be moving again when the moon is in zenith,” Miles told everyone. 

“He always think he’s in charge?” Dean asked.

Bass and Jeremy exchanged a look. “You’re welcome to fight him for the position,” Bass said with a teasing smile. “Jeremy will take the bets.”

“I would put my money on you,” Cas said. “But, I do not think you should engage in a leadership coup.”

Dean snorted because of course Cas would advise him against a coup, honestly. He wasn’t serious, didn’t really care because this was the cosplayers’ world and it was nice to not always need to have the plan, save the world - whatever. 

“I’ll take first watch,” Dean said, hoping it would put an end to the conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will be more action-filled. But in the meantime, health and life b.s. has been interfering with our writing, so please be patient while we work on the next installment. Love you, guys!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter(s) feature a blatant homage to _The Three Musketeers_. (Well, it's only blatant if you've read the aforementioned novel. If you haven't, what are you doing with your life?) It seemed appropriate.

Jeremy hated walking. He’d been a bit of a runner before the blackout, enough to keep from becoming an unsightly, fat man in a suit. Since, well, he hated it. He’d give anything of value, which wasn’t much, but whatever, he’d give it all for a ride in a cab, even one of those bastards who always overcharged the locals because they thought they knew the system. They’d been walking for hours and Miles and Dean, for all their growling and circling each other like rabid, testosterone-fueled, handsome beasts, were all about a brisk pace. He laughed to himself as he thought about Miles being concerned for his manly figure. He knew Neville was out there, hunting them because no coup was successful with Miles and/or Bass alive, and both of them together? Killing them would have to be a priority. Still, a break would be nice.

“Hey, Patton, any chance we poor, bedraggled soldiers can have a bit of a rest?”

“We’ll rest when we get there, Jeremy. Quit whining.”

“Bastard.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Alright, all mighty leader, when will we be stopping?”

“There’s a place, shouldn’t be more than fifteen miles or so,” Bass answered.

“Fifteen _miles_? Do I look like the frickin’ guy who ran the first Marathon to you?” Jeremy whined.

“Phidippides,” Cas added.

“What?”

“Phidippides. The first man to run a so-called ‘Marathon.’ He collapsed and died right after he finished,” Cas explained casually.

“And some asshole thought it would be a good idea to make that into a _sport_?” Dean exclaimed, much to general amusement.

“I don’t wanna die today, Miles,” Jeremy gave a little exaggerated whimper.

“Fuck you,” Miles nodded towards Jeremy, “And fuck you too, Encyclopedia Boy. There’s some kind of a shithole of a bar that should be about… well, closer, anyways. But, we’ll probably get killed there too. So - lady’s choice!” He pointed to Jeremy.

“If I’m going to die today,” Jeremy said with his hand thrown over his chest, “I’d like to do it with a drink in my hand. The good stuff you two used to squirrel away in your study, not the shit you gave us when you were feeling magnanimous.”

“I didn’t stock the bar, just know where it’s located,” Miles grumbled.

“Bar it is,” Bass called to the group.

“Bottom’s up,” Dean replied. 

The bar in question appeared to be a dusty hovel, whose roof was barely hanging on by a thread. It was probably the sole survivor of whatever the hell tornado had swept through the area last, by luck or God’s grace left upright in an otherwise complete desolation. A sign hung off the chain, swinging in the wind and beating against what was left of the awning. It proclaimed the preposterous name of “The Rusty Lily.”

The five men exchanged a series of looks, shrugs, and nods - and proceeded towards the establishment.

“We only have wine,” the proprietor, to use the term loosely, announced when the men stumbled into the scant shade of the parlor.

“What kind of bar is this?” Dean grumbled.

“The kind that serves what it damn well has!” the little man who seemed to own the shit-hovel replied, indignantly. “I’ll have it be known, my cellar has enough wine in it to make the five of you puke from drinking six times over! So don’t be getting all hoity-toity on me!”

“Hey, man, no offense meant,” Dean gave a shrug of compromise and Miles gestured to the owner.

“Did you just order five glasses?”

“Five bottles.”

“I can’t drink a whole bottle of wine,” Cas protested weakly. “I don’t have my Grace anymore - I might… What do you call it? Blow chunks.”

“Oh, four of them are for me,” Miles winked.

“He’s only partially kidding,” Bass assured the hunter and the angel, who did not seem particularly reassured. Still, drinking was always preferable to not drinking.

Dean was actively ignoring the fact that Miles had winked at Cas. Bass just looked amused. And Not-Lucifer looked bored. So, things were shaping up fairly well, all things considered. 

The proprietor came back with five bottles of what appeared to be a recent vintage, judging by the bottles they came in and the detectably unrefined effect the beverage had on the pallet. At least it wasn’t old grape juice, or else Miles would’ve beheaded the man where he stood. 

“Cheers! To not dying today!” Miles proposed.

“Here, here,” Bass echoed. Everyone lifted their glasses in toast.

“Drinking this is hard work, but someone’s gotta do it,” Jeremy said, grimacing as the vintage slid down his gullet. 

Miles swallowed the piss, wondering if Bass would forgive him for beheading the bartender anyway. There was something about having been a proprietor of an establishment like this… and one should take pride in one’s wares - this man had no pride because his wine tasted like donkey shit. 

“Don’t kill him, Miles. We can’t afford the attention,” Bass whispered, reading his thoughts with a tormented grimace on his face.

“But - ”

“No, it’s bad, but no bodies.”

Miles rolled his eyes, but knew that’s how Bass would react. He didn’t like it, but someone needed to be level headed, and given present company, that was only going to be Bass. He laughed bitterly to himself, what a fucked up group of stunted adult males they were. 

“Hey, you look familiar,” a voice sounded from behind Dean and Cas.

“You’re mistaken,” Bass replied calmly. The small group turned towards the intruder. Or rather, intruders. There were four of them, all built like brick-houses, and armed to the teeth with guns and machetes. Bounty hunters, no doubt.

“Nah. Never forget a face,” the supposed leader of the small pack replied, fixing Miles with a keen look.

“Well, we’ve never been here before, so I don’t see how he can look familiar to you,” Bass continued in his most melodious voice. Jeremy shifted, his hand drawing towards his holster. Dean caught his eye and mechanically twitched towards Marlene. Shit was obviously about to hit the fan.

“Yeah, yeah, I remember where I saw you now.” The gargantuan reached inside his jacket and pulled out a packet of crumpled leaflets. He shuffled through them until he found the one was searching for. “Miles Matheson. Wanted dead or alive by the Monroe Republic. Preferably _dead_.”

“We’ve really got to work on your love letters, Bass,” Miles grumbled.

“That’s impossible,” Bass rose out of his chair, causing the four bounty hunters to change their stances and reach for their swords. “I’m President Monroe and I say this isn’t him.”

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of America!” the giant laughed, slapping his belly like some kind of a demented caricature.

“Don’t know who the rest of you gents are, but Mr. Matheson there can come with us quietly and we’ll be on our way,” added one of the huge man’s cronies.

Jeremy threw back his head and laughed because it was all a bit much. “You are as dumb as you look if you think Miles Matheson is going to go anywhere with anyone quietly. Bass might be the Queen of America - ” He paused, looking at Bass, imagining him in a crown, it worked. “Might not, but the point, gentlemen, is Miles isn’t going anywhere.”

“I don’t suppose there is any chance you could just forget you saw me?”

“That’s not how this works. We don’t get paid to forget.”

Miles hung his head, a small, bitter, smile on his lips. “They never take the better option.”

It was ludicrous odds - four bounty hunters against the five of them. It would be a bloodbath after all (if not an orgy). Of course, just as everyone reached for their weapons, the treacherous dog of a proprietor came out from the back with his own troop of goons, also armed to the teeth and pointing all sorts of sharp objects in their direction.

“Don’t be thinking about any funny business,” the purveyor of shitty wine nodded towards the five men. “I don’t sell to rebels and these,” he nodded towards the bounty hunters, “are loyal customers. Now put down your weapons and no one gets hurt.”

“How many times have I heard that before?” Miles sighed and drew his sword. “Someone always gets hurt.”

At this point, Dean grabbed a hold of Marlene, and using the gun as a battering ram, knocked gigantor right onto his haunches. Jeremy smirked because things were off to a rousing start, which was how it always happened before things went to Hell. He ducked to avoid the swing of something that used to be an ornately whittled chair leg. He grinned; fighting was always fun.

Dean lost sight of Cas pretty soon into the fight, hoping a former wing-wearing member of the Heavenly Host of Douchebags would be able to keep himself from dying. Not that it kept him from anxiously looking around the dingy little bar between flying fists and other objects. He noticed Miles, a manic smile he was all too familiar with on his face as he threw some poor idiot out an already broken window. Before he could waste anytime wondering about how it had happened, someone had him by the back of his neck, roughly throwing him to the ground.

He rolled out of the way, narrowly missing the slice of a wicked looking sword and reevaluated the pros and cons of just using Marlene… a fire would effectively dispel the crowd. Not-Lucifer-Maybe pulled him to his feet, before he could come to any decision on the use of his newly beloved gun, and shot his attacker between the eyes.

“Can’t lose you and your sexy ass just yet,” Jeremy said with a wink. 

“Jeremy, damn it, quit flirting and kill someone, will you?” Miles barked as he dodged another blow to the head. 

“I’m multitasking, Miles, keep your skirt on,” Jeremy grumbled, smirking as he heard Bass’ snickering from wherever the hell he was. 

They were cut off from the door, and they had no idea where this swarm of armed psychopaths had come from. It was as if for every asshole they killed, another two sprung in his place. Dean was beginning to question the absence of the supernatural in this universe after all.

“Quick, the cellar,” Cas motioned behind them at the gaping opening in the wall behind the bar.

“Are you fucking out of your mind? We’ll be sitting ducks in there!” Dean snapped.

“Yeah but they won’t blow up their own livelihood and it’ll give us time to regroup,” Cas shouted back, slicing someone’s hand off with his sabre.

“Fine, fall back!” Miles shouted, grabbing Bass with one hand and stabbing someone in the neck with the other hand. He had to step over another body before reaching the cellar door. “Dean! In here!”

The rest hurried to get to the cellar just as someone had begun to unload an arquebus at them. A couple of arrows hit the heavy door as they forced it shut.


	19. Chapter 19

“Barricade it!” Miles ordered.

The men looked around the dark space for something to use as a barricade. Luckily, there were a few candles lit around the perimeter.

“All they have is wine barrels,” Cas pointed out.

“It’s for a good cause,” Jeremy smirked and went towards the first barrell, rolling it towards the door, which was definitely in the process of being forced.

“Unlock this shit!” someone shouted from the outside.

“I can’t. The keys are inside.”

Miles snickered with self-satisfaction.

“Someone send a runner to the Monroe Militia. Tell ‘em we’ve got Matheson and his buddies holed up in here.”

“Great!” Dean threw up his hands. “I _told_ you we’d be sitting ducks in here!”

“At least we’re alive,” Cas mumbled, looking away from his friend’s angry glare.

“Yeah, well, for how long?”

“Look on the bright side, Ken Doll,” Miles patted Dean on the back. “At least we’re locked in a cellar full of booze. We don’t have to die sober.”

“Oh, what a relief,” Dean rolled his eyes.

“I say we drink all this shit!” Miles announced, jumping on top of one of the bigger barrels as if it was an oratory. “If for nothing else, in the name of revenge. They might capture and kill us, but they will _never_ make up their losses.”

“How long do you figure we have to wreak this havoc?” Jeremy asked, situating himself on top of another barrel and uncorking a bottle he found, with his teeth.

“If the runner’s on foot, I’m guessing at least a day, maybe two. If they’ve got a horse… Probably still close to a day - it’ll take Neville at least ten hours to march his men over here. Assuming they’re still at the Tower.” Miles shrugged and jumped off his pedestal approaching the pile of bottles in the corner and picking one up for himself. “Of course that’s even assuming they know where to look for the Militia at this point.”

“So, this is it,” Dean sighed. “Last night on Earth.” He grinned. “Again.” He reached out his hand just in time to catch a bottle that Miles had thrown at him. “Funny to say, but I feel almost relieved.”

Cas also seemed relieved, as he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Then he swayed and softly slid to the floor.

“Woah, Cas,” Dean ran up to his best friend and caught him in what appeared to be mid-swoon. “Cas, you OK?”

“I’m fine… suddenly… so sleepy,” the former angel mumbled, barely able to keep his eyes open.

Bass was at Dean’s side right away, bringing one of the candles over to better assess the situation. 

“You don’t look so good,” Bass said quietly to the former angel, pressing his palm against the clammy skin of the other man’s forehead. He threw open the flaps of Cas’ long coat and immediately saw the source of the problem. The side of Castiel’s shirt had been colored crimson, as was the lining of the coat.

“Cas, no!” Dean pulled his friend closer, tugging at his clothes, searching desperately for the source of the blood.

“This from a blade or from a bullet?” Bass asked, quickly divesting the wounded man of his coat and rolling it up to press against the seeping wound.

“Don’t… remember,” Cas muttered, closing his eyes again. He was so tired, all he wanted to do was sleep. He reached out his hand, searching for something intangible, and found himself holding Dean’s hand in his own.

“Cas, don’t you do this, do you hear me?”

“Whatever caused this, we need to stop the bleeding before he goes into shock,” Miles admonished over Dean’s shoulder. “Check for exit wounds if it’s a bullet. Even if it’s a stab wound, we’ll need to try to stitch it up. Either way, this means surgery of some kind.”

“What’s the point?” Cas’ eyes shot open for a moment, only to flutter shut again. “We’re gonna... die anyways, right?”

“Well, you can’t die yet. Don’t you dare!” Dean snapped.

“That really how you wanna be talking to him right now?” Jeremy whispered into the hunter’s ear, earning a look of derision.

“Shut up, Satan! He’s not dying. He’s just not. So let’s move beyond that and start saving him.”

“Fine, take off his clothes,” Bass seemed to have taken over the duty of medical officer. “Hold this,” he barked at Miles, handing him the candle. “Take this away,” he shoved the bloody trench coat towards Jeremy. “Can we use this booze as disinfectant?”

“Better than nothing,” Miles shrugged, holding the light overhead and Dean quickly removed Cas’ bloodied shirt, exposing his abdomen to Bass’ inspection. “Hand me the wine,” Bass took the bottle out of Jeremy’s hands and pressed it against Cas’ lips. “Here, at least this might help dull the pain.”

Cas took a small sip, while Bass encouraged him to drink more. Dean’s hands were trembling.

“I can’t use this shit, Miles, I need your whiskey flask.”

“Why?” Miles sounded as if Bass had just asked him for an ounce of flesh.

“You stupid asshole, I need to sterilize the wound and this piss is barely even drinkable,” Bass explained, reaching out towards his friend with the certainty of a man who knew his wish would be obeyed. Miles rummaged in the folds of his coat, finally producing a small flask and handing it to Bass, who wasted no time spilling it over his hands and onto the wound. Cas hissed.

Dean shouldn’t have been thinking this, not at such an inopportune moment, but Cas was _ripped_. Seriously, who would have thought that Jimmy Novak, God (or whoever) rest his soul, would have been hitting the gym so hard. He wasn’t, like, Fabio-ripped, Dean was thinking, but he had really nice definition for a nerdy dude, with a generously wide chest and sort of tantalizingly protruding hip-bones. _What the actual fuck was wrong with him?_ Cas was wounded, bleeding, possibly _dying_ and he was massively ogling him. Inappropriate didn’t even begin to cover it. But he’d gotten so used to seeing him in the suit and coat - and even now that he was human, even though he’d ditched the suit, he still wore the coat like some damn security blanket - he had forgotten that it was all flesh underneath, vulnerable flesh.

And now Bass’ finger was disappearing inside the gash in Cas’ side and Dean thought he was gonna be sick, even though, truth be told, he’d seen worse.

“It looks like a stab wound, nothing feels lodged in there, and the good news is I don’t feel any guts spilling out,” Bass withdrew his fingers and Cas emitted a soft moan. Dean pressed closer, brushing Cas’ hair away from his forehead, as if that was going to do anything. Still, Cas leaned into his hand, so it must have given him some minute comfort after all.

“Problem,” Jeremy announced. “We have nothing to stitch him up with.”

“We do,” Miles sighed. They hadn’t been able to get their packs into the cellar during the fight, but he also liked to wear long coats - and for a reason. Long coats tended to have deep pockets, and he’d long ago learned to keep them full of useful things. Like whiskey flasks and old sewing kits, or rather, what was left of them. “It’s not a surgical needle though and we’re gonna have to basically take thread out of our own clothes.”

“You some kinda Mary Poppins?” Dean asked. “Do you have lampshades in there too?” Miles flipped him off silently.

“OK, Miles,” Bass went back into command mode, applying pressure to the seeping wound with Cas’s own discarded shirt. “You sterilize the needle. Dean, take off your shirt and start unspooling.”

Dean didn’t even ask why his shirt as opposed to anyone else’s shirt. He would have gladly “unspooled” any number of things, including his own guts, if he had thought it would help patch Cas back together.

“Don’t let him pass out,” Bass muttered to the side and Jeremy somehow managed to squeeze between Cas and the wall, propping the bleeding man against his own chest. “I’ll need you to hold him tight,” Bass said to Jeremy.

“Wouldn’t be the first time, boss.” Jeremy, for once, Dean thought, was actually not looking about to cop a feel on Cas. Which was ironic, considering he was holding him pressed against his own chest, in a state of relative undress.

Dean had finally managed to “unspool” or whatever the fuck. He had to make some jagged cuts in the material, but eventually the flannel had put out and he handed a few long threads over to Miles, who threaded the needle and passed the flame over the steel to disinfect it again, handing it to Bass.

“You know what you’re doing?” Dean asked, his voice choked with worry.

Cas’ head lulled back and forth against Jeremy’s chest. He was mumbling something incoherent.

“Well, whatever I’m doing, I gotta do it now. Hold him still, both of you.” Dean took a hold of Cas’ legs as Jeremy secured his arms.

A loud pounding sounded against the door.

“Come out of there, you rebel assholes! I can’t serve my customers any food or wine while you’re in there!”

“Yeah, _so_ not at the top of my To Do list!” Miles shouted back, angrily kicking one of the barrels against the door.

Dean thought his chest might actually burst. How the hell was this guy supposed to operate under these conditions, and on _Cas_ of all the people in the cellar. 

“This is not good for business!” The proprietor’s whiny, somewhat nasal voice penetrated into the cellar just as Bass had begun the first stitch. Cas cried out and Jeremy grasped him tighter, whispering something into his ear which Dean couldn’t hear. Cas whimpered.

“You know what else is bad for business? _Attacking_ your goddamn customers!” Miles shouted back across the bolted partition. As if to emphasize this point, Miles kicked one of the barrels again, springing a leak. The wine began to bleed out onto the floor, looking almost as thick as Cas’ blood.

“Well, now you’re just wasting booze,” Jeremy pointed out to him, without letting go of Cas. Bass had managed to get a few more stitches in before Cas began to thrash about again.

“Won’t be any good to me where I’m going,” Miles exhaled, bringing one of the bottles to his mouth and taking a long gulp.

“Where would that be?” Bass asked, concentrating on finishing up the job as quickly as possible.

“Hell,” Miles replied.

“Buddy, you have _no_ idea,” Dean grunted, fingers white-knuckling around Cas’s thighs as he held him down.

“All done, hand me the whiskey again,” Bass ordered, taking the bottle out of Miles’ hand and pouring some over the area of the patchwork on Cas’ body. “Dean, I need your undershirt.”

“For what?”

“For dressing his wound, dumbass. I can’t use your flannel - it’s filthy.”

The former dictator had a point, and Dean stripped out of his undershirt, handing it to Bass. 

“Don’t let it go to waste,” he mumbled.

“He’s passed out,” Jeremy declared, sounding pretty exhausted himself.

“He lasted longer than I would have,” Miles nodded from above them, with a touch of drunken admiration.

“Yeah, Cas is pretty tough,” Dean said, feeling his eyes about to overflow. He bit his lower lip and got up to cross to the other side of the cellar. He watched, as if through a fog, as Bass tore the shirt to shreds and used it to bandage up Cas’ abdomen. “Hmm,” he cleared his throat of the gargantuan lump forming there. “Think he’s gonna make it?”

“We’ll see if he wakes up. Someone should monitor his breathing.” Bass rinsed the blood off his hands with the wine and then wiped them on the soiled trench coat. It killed Dean a little to see it sitting discarded in the dirt like that. In another lifetime, it seemed, he rescued that thing and carried it around with him like some kind of a magical talisman, a hope against hope. He couldn’t stomach the thought of losing Cas again, he just couldn’t. Would he still take the coat with him if Cas died there, in that cellar? Would he even live long enough to have to make that ludicrous choice?

“Psst,” Jeremy’s voice brought Dean back from his morbid train of thought. “Do you really want me to be holding him in my arms while he sleeps? I mean… I don’t mind…”

“Move it, dickhead!” Dean snapped, cutting the other man off and sliding up against Cas, letting his head roll onto his own chest, slipping an arm around his unconscious form.

“Awww, he didn't call me Satan.”


	20. Chapter 20

Dean watched from the floor as Bass walked over to Miles and wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist, burying his face in his friend’s scruffy neck. Instinctively, he tightened his arm around Cas’ shoulders, trying to feel his shallow breathing. Cas’ skin felt warm against Dean’s own, a reassuring tell-tale that the other man was alive.

“Bass, it’s alright,” Dean heard Miles mumble, watching the other two men hold each other in a steady embrace. “You did the best you could.”

“I’m not losing you again, Miles,” Bass exhaled and craned his neck up to take Miles’ lips into a crushing kiss.

Dean closed his eyes, blushing with a need to give the two other men some privacy. His cheek brushed against the top of Castiel’s head and he clenched his jaw against the onslaught of emotion. He’d seen Cas die before, more than once, not even counting all the times he’d watched him die in his constant nightmares. He shut his eyes tighter and brushed his lips against his best friend’s clammy forehead, willing himself not to hear the sounds of Bass and Miles trading heated whispers in between bruising kisses.

“Jeremy, get over here,” Miles voice finally pierced the relative silence. “We gotta discuss strategy.”

“What was wrong with your original plan of getting shitfaced in vengeance?” 

Dean had almost forgotten about the other man, who had been crouched by his side. He opened his eyes to see Jeremy’s form towering with a casual slouch over him and Cas. The face of Lucifer smiled down sadly at him, shrugging off his coat and throwing it over both Dean and Cas. Dean had almost forgotten he was shirtless with Cas’ heat radiating into him.

“Not exactly the Bahamas over here,” Jeremy mumbled and moved to the other side of the cellar to confer with Miles and Bass.

Dean reached out with his free hand and grabbed one of the uncorked bottles next to him. He wasn’t sure if this was what Bass used as “disinfectant” for his own hands, but all things considered, he wasn’t about to get too selective. He took a long swig, hoping the disgusting brew would at least quell the terror inside him. The last time he had seen what he thought was Castiel’s dead body, Bobby had been there, and he couldn’t even bring himself to reach out, to touch the other man’s eyelids, to brush his fingers against the outlines of his ruined face. All he had said was “Dammit” and it was already saying more than enough. Then, of course, not more than five minutes later, he was watching Cas die all over again, disintegrating into the sewage system. How many more times was he going to watch Cas die? He wanted to pray, but considering only Metatron was left up there, prayer seemed even more pointless than before. “You son of a bitch,” Dean thought, “was this the lesson you wanted me to learn? Is this your sick joke of an idea for finding happiness?”

He _wanted_ to pray. But the only one he’d ever really prayed to was already at his side, with a poorly stitched up stabwound in his abdomen no less. And he wasn’t going to mojo himself back together because Dean had failed in getting his Grace back. He was losing Cas again, losing him and being helpless to stop it, as ever.

“Cas,” he called out, his voice barely above a groan and rougher than before. “Cas, don’t you dare leave me again. You understand? I need you… I...” He didn’t finish because Cas lifted his head off his chest and fixed him with his eyes, two glowing coals which seemed to burn black in the tenebrous gloom of the cellar.

“Dean,” Cas’ voice was weak and his lips looked more chapped than ever.

“Please.” That was all Dean could say, he could feel something dangerously close to tears choking him. He knew if he blinked, they would likely run down his cheeks, and that wasn’t really something he needed everyone to see, not even Cas. He didn’t want to upset him any further.

“I won’t,” Cas tried to shake his head. “I won’t die, Dean, I won’t leave you. Not ever.”

“You promise,” Dean’s voice trembled, his forehead pressed flush against Castiel’s.

“I promise. I’ll never leave.”

“And you won’t die,” Dean pressed him, realizing how ridiculous he was being. One of his hands was brushing through Cas’ hair, rubbing gently right behind his ear, thumb softly caressing the delicate ridges of cartilage there. 

“I’ll always come back to you. I... love you.” Those words brushed like butterflies against Dean’s lips and he heard himself gasp as if from far away. Cas’ eyelashes fluttered and settled down with his closing lids.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, his heart beating a battledrum inside his chest.

“Jesus Christ, would you kiss him already or do I have to do it _for_ you?” Jeremy’s voice carried from across the cellar.

He wanted to tell Lucifer to go fuck himself. He wanted _privacy_. He wanted… 

“This isn’t how I wanted this to happen,” Dean sighed against the soft skin right beneath Cas’ earlobe, and then gently let his lips rest there. He tasted salt, and an underlying sweetness that must’ve been Cas’ alone. He brushed his lips along the prickly curves of the former angel’s jaw, and by the time he found Castiel’s mouth, it was already slightly open, as were his eyes. “I wanted…” Dean started to say, but Cas turned his head, just a few degrees, just enough to shut him up with his mouth on Dean’s.

For a few long moments it was just a gentle play of their lips against each other, tasting, pressing, receding, and coming together again. Finally, Dean felt Cas’ jaw go slack under the pressure of his kiss, and he ventured out with his tongue, probing and drinking in the other man’s heat. Before long, Cas’ teeth were gently pulling at his lower lip and then popping off him with a soft intake of breath.

“It’s always been you,” Cas whispered, looking up at Dean as if he was watching his first sunrise.

Dean wanted to say something, but the words were stuck in his throat. This wasn’t unusual, especially around Cas, but this time there was so much more he’d rather do with his mouth than speak. Instead, he pressed his lips to the the pulse point of Cas’ neck and breathed in the sweetness of his skin again, as if he’d been starving for that scent his whole life.

“Mazel Tov!” someone snarked from the corner, probably Jeremy, but it could’ve been anyone, considering present company.

“Hey, go easy there, tiger,” that time Dean recognized Bass’ voice. “We barely just patched him up, don’t tear out the stitches.”

Dean’s heart sped up and, and, as if he could sense his panic, Cas placed the palm of his hand flush against Dean’s breastbone and whispered, “I’m OK.”

Cas lied. Dean could tell by the way he furrowed his brow to try and prevent his face from becoming distorted with pain. It made Dean’s heart squeeze even tighter with adoration.

“We really got nothing for the pain?” Dean barked turning his head towards his unwelcome audience.

“We’re sitting on a goldmine of anesthesia, if you ask me,” Miles gestured around the cellar.

Dean looked at the half-empty bottle that he had tucked between his legs. It was pressed up snuggly against his half-boner.

“You should get some rest,” he whispered to Cas, pressing his lips against his temple. “We’re not going anywhere any time soon.”

Cas wrinkled his nose and reached for the bottle, drawing it slowly from between Dean’s legs and pressing it to his lips.

“No,” Cas protested weakly. “I’m afraid.”

“Of what?”

“That if I go to sleep, I might break my promise to you.”

Dean pulled him into another kiss, tasting the bitterness of the wine on his lips. There was so much he wanted to tell him, but all he could do was kiss, as if with each press of his lips to make Cas understand what he couldn’t offer up in words.

Things got quiet outside the cellar. There was no sound of anyone trying to force the door, nor the whiny croak of the proprietor’s begging to be let in. By all accounts, it was the calm before the storm.

“Hey, remember that time you captured me,” Jeremy’s voice carried over, “And you suggested to the rebels to dig their way out of the compound? Well, by your own calculations, we’ve got more time now to dig that tunnel.”

“Unless we dig it to China, I don’t see how that’ll help,” Miles replies. “This place is pretty small and what are the chances it’s not surrounded?”

“God damn it,” by the sound of it, Bass had kicked something. The something fell over. “How many of those assholes did we kill anyways?”

“You should still try to sleep,” Dean whispered, trying to block out the conversation around them. “I’ll be right here.”

“Not enough,” Jeremy snickered.

“How did this happen? No, really, how?” Bass’ voice rose a pitch. “We’re better than this. There has to be something we can do, other than sit here and get shitfaced, waiting to die.”

“You and I can surrender,” Miles mumbled.

“Dean, I’m not sleepy,” Cas lied again. His fingers were gently brushing against Dean’s cheekbones, thumb tracing over his lips, as if he was trying to memorize the hunter’s features.

“Miles, don’t talk shit,” Jeremy snapped.

“It’s the only thing I can think of. Maybe at least we can trade our lives for yours.”

“I’m not worth both your lives, you crazy asshole!” 

This concerned them. Dean should have been paying attention, but he had his arms full of his favorite angel, and all the noise was extremely distracting. He took another swig of the wine, draining the bottle and tossing it to the side, angrily.

“Yeah, well, what about them? This isn’t even their fight. They don’t deserve to die down here with us just because you’re getting all sentimental in your old age, Jeremy.”

“Miles is right,” Bass chimed in. “It’s us they want, anyways. If we can’t fight our way out of this, we can at least…” he trailed off.

“What? _Die_ together? God, you two are raging assholes!” Jeremy shouted. It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the discussion.

“We’re all gonna die in here otherwise, and there’s no point pretending anything else!” Bass shouted back.

“Do you three _mind_?” Dean finally snapped in their direction.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to ruin your moment,” Miles sniped.

“Don’t we get a say?” Dean asked, feeling more riled up as his half-mast deflated.

“Your friend needs a surgeon. If we don’t surrender…” Bass trailed off again. “For fuck’s sakes, we’re holding his guts in with thread pulled out of your _shirt_. And Neville is probably on his way here with a small army. We’re good, but we’re not _that_ good.”

“Well, save your heroics for someone else. I’m not having you sacrifice yourselves to save us, you hear?” Dean would have gotten up, for emphasis, but instead he pulled Jeremy’s coat tighter around himself and Cas. “Besides, we’ve gotten out of worse situations. Right, Cas?” He looked over, but even in the dim light of the candles he could see that Cas had grown more pale. At least he was still awake.

Cas nodded and tried to lie again. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” Dean felt his chest about to implode from the pressure on it.

“So..,” Jeremy started again. “We’re not digging a tunnel, and you two are not surrendering. Where does that leave us?”

“I thought you were fine with Plan A?” Miles smirked.

“Sitting in a cellar full of booze, waiting to die,” Bass nodded and reached for a fresh bottle. 

“And don’t forget, drinking all the booze to piss off the assholes who are responsible for our current situation,” Jeremy added.

“Yeah, OK,” Dean said. “If you don’t mind keeping your party on that side of the room, Cas and I have some business to attend to over here.”

“Seriously? Under _my_ coat?” Jeremy looked vaguely indignant.

“Guess that’s as close as you’re coming to tapping _that_ ,” Miles snickered at Jeremy.

Dean contemplated glaring again, but then he just demonstratively blew out the candles closest to him and Cas, sending their corner of the cellar into a deeper darkness.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delayed gratification! But it's all done now and we hope it was worth the wait.

He’d never been one for public displays because he thought it was a bit gross and he was a jaded bastard, but this was Cas and he might di - no, Dean couldn’t allow himself to even think it. Still, he pressed his lips to the back of Cas’ neck and closed his eyes against the thought of tomorrow, of the men coming to kill them, of fucked up angels who wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone. Instead, he traced the lines of Cas’ face, memorized the way his skin felt beneath his fingers. 

“More,” Cas’ voice was barely more than a whisper, but Dean felt it through every nerve ending in his body. 

“Fuck.” He didn’t know what _more_ meant, didn’t know what would hurt Cas more, didn’t know exactly what the fuck he wanted other than _CAS CAS CAS_ , like a mantra in his head, all of his senses alight with it. Cas was shaking in his arms and his skin was covered in a sheen of sweat that Dean knew was a bad sign, but he was still Cas, still his angel and just as he might have gotten everything he wanted, he was going to - no, he wasn’t going to lose it because Cas was going to live. He promised and that was enough for Dean.

He brought his lips to Cas’ once more, feeling Cas moan into the kiss and Dean hoped it wasn’t because he was in pain. Cas’ hand found his and Dean tried to curl their fingers together because it felt right, felt like the thing to do, but Cas wouldn’t let that happen. Instead, Cas moved Dean’s hand down and… And, oh. Oh, that was new. He knew his palm was sweating and he felt like a twelve-year-old boy again and didn’t know what to do with himself. It was a dick, which he shouldn’t be afraid of, but he sort of was. And he was never going to admit that to anyone because then he’d have to shoot himself in the head, and apparently bullets were scarce so he knew Miles wasn’t going to let him waste a bullet on suicide. 

Cas wanted this though, he still had his hand around Dean’s. He could do this for Cas; he could do anything for Cas. It’s not like he’d never touched a dick before because life on the road wasn’t exactly conducive to copious amounts of sex and he didn’t pay for it nearly as much as Sammy always accused him of. Standards, man, standards. He reached out and palmed Cas through his filthy pants, felt the length of him and - wow, angel dicks - not insubstantial. He swallowed noisily because he didn’t know how to feel about the sudden, painful hard-on he was experiencing at the thought of Cas’ giant dick. He rubbed his hand up and down a few times, hearing the way Cas’ breath hitched. 

“Dean - more, please, Dean.”

The words were mumbled, but Dean knew Cas better than anyone and so he reached up and undid the button on his pants before pulling the zipper down. He wanted to do this right, with maybe not candles and rose petals because he didn't suddenly grow tits, but with a bed, and without all the blood, and maybe even being able to see his face. Whatever, they'd do that later. Yeah, they’d do it a lot later. He knew how he liked it, when he would lay in bed at night and pull one off because it was the only release he could find anymore. Pushing those thoughts aside, he wrapped his hand around Cas’ dick and would swear his heart stopped because it was nothing like himself. Sure, it was a cock, but that was about it. His hips bucked forward, causing Cas to moan and this time it was in pain from the jarring and Dean cursed himself, but Cas’ hand was on top of his, preventing him from moving it back like he’d intended to. 

“Don’t, please, Dean. Don’t stop.”

“Fuck,” Dean hissed because Cas was begging him to keep touching him and there was something about that made his insides feel all wrong and right and everything all at once like he was going to die and shatter into a million pieces. Cas was warm in his hand, warm and thick, and he moved his thumb along the vein he felt on the underside, enjoying the way it felt against his skin. Cas’ head fell back against Dean’s shoulder and he leaned forward to press his lips to the spot where his neck met his shoulder, sucking the skin into his mouth, worrying it with his teeth because he needed to make this moment feel more real and Dean knew bruises and scars were as real as it got. And he wanted to remember this, wanted everyone to remember this. 

“Get your dick out of my eye, Miles, fuck!” Dean heard Bass’ indignant squeak from across the room and he rolled his eyes because they were all children. 

“Jesus, Miles,” and Dean knew that was Jeremy. “I thought you’d know the difference between Bass’ ass and his eye after all these years.”

Dean figured Mies did something they both enjoyed because the only noise he heard after was a mumbled _fuck yes_ and a breathy _oh my god_ that he chose to ignore for the sake of his delicate psyche. Plus, Cas was still warm and pliant in his arms. He was making tiny little noises from the back of his throat, and maybe Dean was a wishful thinker after all, maybe they were because of the wound, and the blood and the shit storm they’d landed themselves in, but Dean wanted to, no needed to believe those sounds were for him. He moved his hand a bit faster, using his thumb to pull a bit of the precome along Cas’ length, hoping it was enough to make his movements smooth. There was something erotic, more erotic than anything Dean had witnessed before, about the way Cas was in his arms, the way his hand looked as it moved over Cas’ length, the way he could pull the foreskin up over the tip. That was a bit of a surprise to Dean, for all the thinking he hadn’t done about angel dicks, he thought they’d be circumcised. 

“Dean - oh,” Cas’ voice was little more than a whisper against his skin as Dean sped up his pace. He could hear grunts in the background and assumed Miles had figured out what to do with his dick. 

“I’ve got you, Cas,” Dean replied, lips hovering over the mark he’d made. He’d never been possessive of people, not people that he took to bed because it wasn’t him, there wasn’t time - it all ended badly anyway. This, this was different. He mouthed over the bruise, savoring the flavor of Cas’ skin, knowing that even if they all died, which was a likely outcome, he could be pragmatic (Sammy would be so proud of him and his SAT words). Either way, they’d have this and it would never be enough because this was everything he’d always wanted, but even knowing that, he would keep this memory, this feeling, this scent with him forever.

“Dean, I - ”

Dean smiled as he felt Cas shake through his orgasm, his hand full of Cas’ wet seed. He brought his hand up and licked his finger slowly, eyes fluttering closed. It should be gross. He knew it was gross because he’d seen it happen in pornos time and time again and always shouted at them for their bullshit because no one likes the taste of come, and he was right, but it was Cas, so it didn’t really matter. The taste was bitter and he decided he wouldn't do that again, but then Cas was kissing him so he figured it was all good after all.


	22. Chapter 22

Tom Neville was a Southern gentleman, before anything else. Before being a soldier, or even a husband and a father, his mama had taught him manners, and she had taught him _good_. Which is why it gave him no pleasure to throw hog-tied Lil Miss Matheson and her esteemed mother into the uncovered wagon as he ordered his forces to move out. But he had also learned from Miles Matheson, and Miles had taught him that nothing beat a good hostage. So imagine the pride that welled up in his chest when he had scored himself hostages worthy of his quarry. Matheson didn’t stand a chance now.

The man who had found him, a putrid pile of sweat and bedraggled clothing, explicated the situation between gasping for breath. Matheson was holed up in some basement, in a shit-hovel in some podunk border town, less than a day’s march away. And, by all accounts, he had barricaded himself in. Well, that was stupid, and Miles simply didn’t _do_ stupid. So it must have been a trick of some kind, Tom was certain. Better to bring the hostages then, in case Miles tries something… heroic.

And what of Monroe? Tom’s original plan was to give him a trial, or, at the very least, a very public execution. He had fallen prey to the oldest cliche in the book, of counting his chickens before they hatched. Monroe was alive and, what’s worse, reunited with Matheson. He’d seen them do this before - survive against all odds, build an army, consolidate power. Granted, it had taken them years to accomplish what they have, and they couldn’t have made much headway since their ridiculously melodramatic escape. But it did appear as if they’d already managed to garner reinforcements. Uncanny. Tom didn’t like it one bit. None of this. It smelled of trouble. When he looked up at the moon at night, it seemed to laugh at him.

The Rusty Lily - the place lived up to its name. Or rather, the first half of its name. Lily, or any damn flower for that reason, had no place at such an establishment. The Rusty Toilet would’ve been a better moniker, Tom figured.

“Are you the men who sent the runner?” Tom dismounted and approached a bearded hooligan, nursing one of his arms in a sling - no doubt the proof of encountering Matheson and his wayward lover.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Your man said there were five prisoners?”

“That’s right.”

“Who else is with him?”

“We don’t know, Sir. One of them claimed to be President Monroe.” The bearded man laughed at that and looked over at his companions, some of whom looked a lot worse for wear than the speaker.

“You utter imbecile,” Tom muttered and veered onto the laughing man. “That _was_ Monroe!”

“But, Sir…”

“Doesn’t matter. Did you recognize anyone else?”

Beard-face shook his head, or rather his beard - it was voluminous.

“I beg you, Sir,” a man with the face and disposition of a weasel approached Tom. “I run this place.” He pointed at the shithole. Tom sighed. How could a man with a face such as that peddle his wares? The world had indeed become a deplorable place. “If you could do me this solid, Sir… Um… General?”

“Sir is fine,” Neville snapped, not wanting to discuss the logistics of his current military status with the weasel.

“Well, you see, Sir… All my wine and food supplies are inside the cellar where those madmen have locked themselves. If you could get them to come out of there, without resorting to…” the weasel paused and looked at the armed men surrounding the area, “...too much violence? I have nothing else in the world, Sir. Please. It’s all my livelihood.”

Men like the weasel made Tom sick. Conspiring with bounty hunters, opening fire on their own customers, no - this man probably sold bison-piss wine too. There was no dignity, no honor left in the world. He sneered and looked once more towards the doorway of the so-called bar.

“Edison,” he motioned towards one of his lieutenants. “Go knock on the cellar door and tell Matheson and his… friends that we’ll discuss the terms of their surrender with them.”

“Yes, Sir. But if they don’t surrender?”

“Mention to them that we have the Matheson women. That should be rather motivating.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And Edison,” Tom halted the other man by placing a hand on his shoulder. His eyes seeked out the weasel again. “Tell Matheson that if they don’t come out, we’re setting this entire damn place on fire.”

The young firebrand had actually spat in Tom’s face when they had dragged her, kicking and thrashing, from the wagon. Tom wiped her spit off with the back of his sleeve, trying to keep his composure. Surely, it would have been simply easier to kill her, but his poetic young son would have probably done something irrational. He never should have allowed him to read Goethe, what had he been thinking? This never would have happened had the electricity still been on. Jason would have been able to numb his soul with video games and YouTube then, rather than read _Werther_.

Edison returned with a downtrodden expression on his face. Tom frowned preemptively.

“They say they want proof that you have the girl, Sir.”

“I thought they might,” Tom gave Charlie a crooked smile and beckoned for the soldiers to drag her closer to the cellar door. “Say hi to your uncle,” he prodded the young woman in between her shoulder blades.

“Miles!” she hollered at the heavy door. “Don’t you come out of there, Miles! Don’t surrender to…” He wasn’t going to let her finish, but she did try to bite him through the glove as he shut her mouth with his hand. 

“Foolish girl, that’ll be enough out of you,” Tom admonished, pulling her out of the bar, again in a rather ungentlemanly fashion. His mama would’ve been ashamed, but tough times called for some tough action.

He left her with the soldiers and walked back towards the door, eyeing it for breaches. He spotted one just in time to duck. A bullet shattered Edison’s kneecap. Another one dropped a soldier right next to him. 

“So that’s how it’s gonna be?” Tom shouted, having taken cover on the other side of the bar, out of the line of sight of the shooter. 

“That’s just for bringing Charlie here,” Miles’ gruff voice sounded from the cavern of the cellar, like some medieval beast from his lair. 

“You have nowhere to go, and I have your family. _Think_ , Miles!”

For a few moments, all Tom could hear was muffled voices from beyond the door. It was clear that accord wasn’t going to be reached, either on the inside or on the outside.

“Have you thought it over, Miles? I promise, I’ll give you and Monroe a fair trial.” 

“And a swift execution, no doubt,” Monroe’s voice came from within.

Ah, well, he knew Tom too well.

“I was never known as the Butcher of Baltimore,” Tom protested, a cruel smile crossing his features.

“Well, we’ve talked it over,” Monroe’s voice sounded again.

“And?”

“And… we’ve decided you can go fuck yourself!” Miles shouted.

“That is most unwise!” Tom shouted back.

In reply, another shot came from the breach in the doorway, felling yet another one of Tom’s infantry.

“And I’ve got enough ammo to put a hole in anyone else who comes within firing range of this door,” Miles added and Tom could hear by the sound of a gun being reloaded that it was probably not an entire bluff.

“You’ll run out of bullets, Miles.”

“Not until I kill a few more of your men.”

“And then what?” Tom asked.

“And then, I still have a lot of booze down here that I’m not quite finished with!” Miles declared with a peel of a chilling laughter.

He was calling his bluff, of course. Tom should have known that Miles would see his inability to kill a woman for what it was - a weakness. He thought wistfully of Julia, and her own blond hair, waiting for him faithfully back in Atlanta. And again, he remembered the sword that Miles had held to her tender, long throat. 

Slowly, moving at such an angle that he was certain the firing squad in the cellar wouldn’t hit him, Tom circled back to the wagon. His men was in disarray. Edison’s pathetic wails were not helping him think.

“Set it on fire. Set it all on fire,” he ordered.

“But, Sir!” the weasel fell to his knees in front of Neville. “That bar’s all I got in the world!”

Tom looked down at the man, loathing and scorn pooling in the pit of his belly. 

“You won’t need it,” he stated, and shot the kneeling man between the eyes.


	23. Chapter 23

“Gentlemen,” Jeremy said to the rest of the men, “It’s been an honor and a pleasure. Especially last night,” he winked over at Miles and Bass. “Although it was also a pleasure listening in on the two of you,” he turned towards Dean, who was sitting by the wall, holding Cas to his chest. Cas who was as pale as a sheet and could barely move. “I’m sorry you didn’t have a chance to fully consummate your love, so I guess better luck next time!”

The smoke had begun to slowly seep into the cracks of the cellar. Miles, who had been holding the remnants of Dean’s shirt in front of his face, put the material down.

“We’ll die of smoke inhalation before it even gets properly hot in here,” he said towards Dean, kneeling in front of the hunter and his barely conscious friend. “I don’t think he’s going last much longer anyways.” He tried to say it by way of a consolation, to tell Dean that Cas wouldn’t suffer, no more than he’d suffered already in any event. It came out wrong. It always came out wrong. “I’m sorry,” he added. “I wish things had been different.”

“We can still surrender,” Bass suggested.

“No,” Dean’s voice was hollow. “You’re right. He’s dying anyways, and I’m not… Well… Look….” He didn’t know exactly how to express what he was trying to say, but to his relief, Bass finished his sentence for him. 

“If he’s dying, you’re dying with him,” Bass said and smiled sadly at Miles. He remembered saying those very words to Miles, what felt like a lifetime ago. “I know the sentiment,” he whispered right into Miles’ mouth as their lips met.

Jeremy cleared his throat and took another long gulp from a nearly empty bottle.

“We did put quite a dent into their stock,” he shrugged. “Too bad it was all apparently for naught, Miles.”

“Story of my life,” Miles muttered, smiling against Bass’ lips. The world was on fire. But he was going to die happy. “I’m sorry I left you. I never should have left you, Bass.”

“Hush, I know.”

“No, don’t hush me.”

“I love you, Cas,” Dean whispered. His eyes stung, and it wasn’t from the smoke. “I won’t ever let you go, not ever,” his lips brushed gently against his angel’s damp forehead. 

The smoke was getting thicker and the temperature was getting decidedly hotter. Dean wrapped himself tighter around Cas and prayed again, to anyone who would listen, _Save him. Save my angel. Please. Help us._

Bass coughed and shut his eyes. He could feel Miles on the one side, Jeremy on the other. By all accounts, this was a fate unimaginable even a few weeks ago - to die among his friends. It was far better than living alone, loving no one, and hated by all. 

Suddenly, and completely incomprehensibly, a woman’s voice sounded out of the smoke and darkness of the cellar.

“Dean Winchester! There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Do you have any idea the amount of havoc your brother has wreaked both in Heaven and Hell to find you?”

“Save first, chastise later?” Dean’s gruff voice answered back.

“Fine.” Bass saw a pantsuit and a very sensible bun. This had to be a dying hallucination, surely. The woman had bent over Dean and Cas.

“Take them too!” Dean pointed towards the other three men slumped against the opposite wall.

“Dean, you’re a royal pain in my ass,” the woman replied.

Bass shut his eyes because his dying hallucination made no sense, but then the air shifted all around them, and even through his drawn eyelids he could feel the warmth of daylight, as opposed to the fires about to consume them. When he opened his eyes, they were in Independence Hall, ostensibly back in Philly.

“What the?” 

“Are we dead?”

“If this is Heaven, I’m gonna be pissed,” Miles declared.

“Naomi, quick!” Dean’s voice carried from somewhere in the room. “You have to heal him!”

“Hm,” the woman in the pantsuit and the sensible bun stood in the middle of the room, facing the bed where Dean had gingerly laid out Cas, arms across her chest, looking generally unimpressed. “I don’t know Dean. I promised Sam I would find you and bring you back with the understanding that you would help us defeat Metatron. I made no such promises about Castiel here.”

“Don’t be a dick, Naomi! You know I’m not going anywhere without him.”

“I hold grudges,” Naomi pointed out.

“Well, get _over_ it!” Dean shouted.

“I received a drill in the head because of Castiel! It’s a good thing it wasn’t made of angel-blade steel, or else I’d be dead myself. He broke Heaven!”

“Turn the other cheek and get healin’,” Dean pointed at the bed in such a way that left no doubt as to his intent. “If he dies, I swear to whatever is left up there, I will hunt you down and you will receive the drill in the head until your head comes _off_.”

“You’re kinda cute when you’re all in love,” Naomi smirked. She walked over to the bed and gazed down upon the dying man. He had been unconscious for several minutes. She could see exactly what the oxygen levels were in his body, could sense with exactitude and precision when each organ would go into failure. “Oh Castiel,” she whispered, a small smile playing upon her lips. “You don’t even die right, do you?” And she reached out with her hand towards his forehead, bathing him in ethereal light.


	24. Epilogue

“So your angel secretary healed you then left you here with us?” Jeremy asked.

“Could have been worse - as angel timetravel mojo goes, we’re okay,” Dean answered as he took the glass of whiskey from Miles.

“Tom’s still out there, ladies, if you’re done chatting,” Miles said as he slung his arm around Bass.

“No one here knows he set a coup, Miles,” Bass told him, a fond smile on his face. “When he comes back, he’ll have a hard time taking Philly from us.”

“Also,” Cas added. “He thinks we’re all dead.”

Jeremy shrugged. “Well, there’s that, too. I guess, we won then?”

Miles looked at Bass and pulled him flush against his chest. “Yeah, for now, I guess we did.”

“Getting soft in your old age?” Bass teased.

Miles smirked. “Just resting for the shit that’s coming. Tom won’t give up - poor delusional captain thinks he in charge of the Monroe Republic.”

Jeremy laughed as he watched the way the men cuddled up with their person. It should have made him jealous, or sad, but it didn’t because it meant there was hope. If these idiots could make it work, well - 

“Look, uh…” Dean spoke up, tearing his eyes away from Cas’ face (but damn if it wasn’t the best feeling in the world watching as health returned to that beloved creature). “You guys have been pretty awesome, so we could stay here and try to help you deal with this whole… Tom situation. But eventually,” he glanced over at Cas. “I’m pretty sure Naomi is going to be coming back for us.”

“Not so fast,” the same, feminine voice sounded from the window.

“Woah,” Miles rubbed his eyes. “Don’t you angel people ever knock?”

“See, I told you it’s creepy,” Dean whispered towards Cas.

“I come with news,” Naomi announced towards Dean and Castiel, paying no heed to the others in the room. “We have been victorious. With your brother’s help, I have been able to destroy Metatron, once and for all, and re-open Heaven. Castiel, your siblings are safe again, and balance has been restored.”

“That’s amazing!” Dean shook his head in wonder. “And how’s Sammy?”

“He’s perfectly content,” Naomi replied. “We promised him that in exchange for his help he would get to live out the rest of his life in perfect peace and normalcy, protected from any supernatural affects by the Heavenly Host. He’s even found himself a new dog.” She took a step forward and smiled. “And, Castiel, I have something for you.” She took something out of her pocket that looked like a small vial. “It’s your Grace,” she stretched out her hand towards the former angel. “If you take it, you can come home, and be one of us again.”

“Cas?” Dean felt his voice choking in his throat. This was… what he wanted for Cas, wasn’t it? So why did it feel like his entire world just came crushing down? “That’s… that’s great.” He mumbled.

“Is it?” Cas looked over at Dean.

“Yeah, man. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“I thought it was,” Cas replied and took the vial out of Naomi’s hand, cradling it in his palm, gently. “But, Dean, I made you a promise in that cellar. I said I would never leave you.”

“Cas…”

“If I take this, if I become an angel again, I know that we would not be able to… to _be_ together. That’s how it was before - something was always taking me away from you. I don’t want to leave you again. I choose you.”

“But… Cas…” Dean shook his head and contemplated pinching himself. He was ready to shut down in a way that was most natural to him, to suck it up, to pretend like everything was in its right place. He was prepared for Cas to leave and to live with the pain of almost having everything he’d wanted for so long. He wasn’t prepared for _this_.

“I choose _you_ ,” Cas repeated and handed the small vial back to Naomi.

“Someone please kiss someone or I’m going to do it for you,” Jeremy commented, brushing an imaginary tear out of the corner of his eyes.

“We’re really gonna have to work on getting some privacy around here,” Dean grumbled and pulled Cas into an embrace. There would be kissing later, oh yes, and so much more than kissing.

“As you wish,” Naomi shrugged, giving Castiel an unreadable look. “You always have been more human than angel, in my opinion.” She turned towards Dean. “Now, do you want me to take you back to your own world or what?”

“Sounds like there’s nothing for us left to do back in our own world,” Dean expressed his thoughts out loud, looking at Cas to see whether his track of thought was shared. “And these assholes could use a few good men,” he nodded towards Bass, Miles, and Jeremy. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, angel?”

“Where you go, I go,” Cas stated simply and placed a chaste kiss on Dean’s lips.

Dean looked over at Miles, instinctively knowing the chain of command. Miles winked. That was all the permission he needed.

“We’re staying here,” Dean told Naomi and put his arm around Cas, whose warmth sent waves of joy through his tired body. “Tell Sammy..,” Dean paused. There was a lot he wanted to say to Sam, but only one thing that was truly important. “Tell Sammy that I’m happy for him. And tell him also, just… that I’m happy.”

Naomi inclined her head. “I’m going to buy a carrier pigeon next time, but you’ve done well. I’ll tell Sam.”

“That’s still creepy,” Jeremy said as Naomi disappeared. 

“You alright, man?” Miles asked as he nudged Dean with his shoulder.

Dean felt himself smile. “Yeah. Someone needs to watch your ass while you’re watching his.”

Bass looked up at Dean. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Okay, I vote we all drink a lot and pass out in front of the giant fireplace Miles has in his office,” Jeremy suggested, bottle of something dark in his hand.

“God, how do you even still have a _liver_?” Cas cringed, remembering the last couple of days in the cellar through the thick fog of near-death.

“He’s just angling for an orgy,” Bass explained casually.

“Oh, well then…” Dean flushed crimson and shuffled closer to Cas. He wasn’t sure that he was quite gay enough for all that. _Lucifer_ , he thought, fondly.

He was going to like it here, with these idiots. And his angel.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for those of you who have been following this saga from the beginning! It's been so much fun interacting with you guys. 
> 
> Hope you've enjoyed watching REVONATURAL!


End file.
